To Give the Devil His Due
by Blue Wonderland
Summary: Time has passed. Souls have grown weary. The war is still raging on against Voldemort. Death and distrust are their only companions in this new world, in this new order. But hope glimmers. Hermione must trust Malfoy with her life for any chance of survival. Is this change or is it the moment Voldemort and his Death Eaters have been waiting for? A chance to put out the Light?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

**To Give the Devil His Due**

_"It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more." - J.K. Rowling_

She hurried down the brightly lit street on her way back from The Burrow. It wasn't safe to apparate straight to her home anymore. _They_ would be looking for her. She wanted to keep her parents out of harm's way, and if that meant adding an extra fifteen minutes to her journey home, then she would.

Feeling the sudden downpour of rain, Hermione hugged her belongings closer to her body, hoping to keep them dry. She looked behind her when she heard the rev of an engine, spotting the headlights of an oncoming car. _Let's just hope Voldemort hasn't decided to start using Muggle transport_. She smiled at the thought. Just imagining the Dark Lord himself driving anything other than people to their untimely death made her laugh.

Then she stopped. What was she thinking? _People dying is not funny, Hermione! _She cringed slightly, even at her own reprimand. This was what this sick and twisted world was doing to her. She was starting to sound just like a Death Eater. Shivering at the thought, she hurried on hoping that the weather would not worsen.

Watching the car pass, she saw its taillights slowly disappear as it turned a corner. Still looking ahead, she spotted a streetlight flickering on and off like a lighthouse, as though it was warning of an impending danger. Unexpectedly, the light surged then burnt out, causing part of the street to be flooded by darkness. Hermione halted, wand at the ready. She held it at arms length awaiting any unseen attackers.

But suddenly it was not just the one light that had been extinguished, but all the others on the row started to dimmer. It was as though someone had used Dumbledore's — or to be more precise Ron's Deluminator, which had been bequeathed to him after the Headmaster's death.

Hermione froze, glancing at her surroundings. Just for a moment she stood intensely aware of its silence. She heard a whooshing noise pass high above her, resembling that of a flock of birds. It seemed to reverberate off the stone cottages around her, echoing continuously until it died out just like the streetlights. All at once, she was overly conscious of the contiguous gloom that began to chill her to the very core. It was as though a group of Dementors were feeding off her and her happiness replacing it with a sense of dread. As it was reaching its peak, the lights were suddenly blazing brightly once more. She squinted against the glare. She felt like a blind woman that could once again see, but the security of sight did nothing to suppress her anxiety.

Looking cautiously around her, Hermione began to walk again, increasing her speed as she neared her parents' home feeling the whip of the wind as it lashed around her arms and legs.

As she reached the gate at the end of their garden, she could not help but notice how menacing the house appeared. The windows were obscured only by some curtains, but no light seemed to be springing from behind its lacy white pattern. _Nothing's wrong. You're overreacting._ She had seen more frightening things than a house in the past few years. Why should she be so scared of a house— her house no less? _You were put in Gryffindor for a reason, Hermione. Show some courage at least!_

Taking a deep breath, she began to look for her keys, having to move her books from one tired arm to another in order to search through the confines of her coat. Groping around the inside of her pocket she felt the cool touch of her DA coin— Hermione was proud of her creation. She had just altered all the DA coins to make it easier to communicate with the other members during the war, and was impatient to test it out. Then her finger caught on the sharp tip of her snitch shaped key ring. _Found them._

After a few minutes of fumbling with the keys in the lock, Hermione finally entered her parents' home. Tossing her hat on the hall table, she began to unload the colossal amount of books from her exhausted arms, trying not to drop her letter as she did so.

Hermione looked up the staircase and down the hall eagerly wondering where her parents might be. Calling for them, she announced her arrival, "Mum? Dad? I'm home," She couldn't wait to tell them that the Order had at last seen it fit that she, Harry and Ron were now of age to join, having only just received her letter personally from Professor McGonagall. Yet even though she was euphoric with their decisions, she still could not shrug the feeling that something was amiss.

Confused, Hermione began to walk toward the kitchen hoping to find someone. Pushing the door slightly ajar, she peaked in. There, sitting at the table before the backdoor sat a solitary figure. Her brow knit in confusion. _Why hadn't they answered her calls?_, "Why _are_ you sitting in the dark? It's not going to make much of a difference if you turn the light on, Dad. Mum already knows that you raid the biscuit tin every night. And you call yourself a dentist," she tutted.

She smiled fondly as she turned toward the light switch by the door, "Might want to guess again," A deep, austere voice sounded from the shadow at the table, stopping Hermione dead in her tracks as she was paralysed with fear.

She looked back at the figure as they raised a cup to their lips, taking a sip then sat it back on the counter-top. Hermione let go of her letter, whipping her wand out in a heartbeat. The intruder laughed maliciously, its sound echoing about the dark room.

"Typical Granger," it commented, "Jumping to conclusions."

"Malfoy?" Disbelief clouded her voice as she began to edge closer, still pointing her wand toward the intruder. She hadn't seen him since the battle at Hogwarts, after the so-called Golden Trio saved his and Goyle's life from the miscast Fiendfyre. No one had heard from or seen the Malfoys since they disappeared with Voldemort and his remaining Death Eaters into the Forbidden Forest after the fleeting Battle of Hogwarts.

He stood and advanced toward her inert form, whispering unintelligibly under his breath. The room burst into light. Malfoy's platinum blonde hair and proud expression twinkled mischievously in the sudden light, "Obviously, Granger. I compliment you on your observational skills."

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" He began to leisurely saunter around the small kitchen, absentmindedly looking at things as he passed. Hermione raised her wand higher as she stomped towards him whilst he silently inspected a set of drawings she had given her parents before she left for her first year at Hogwarts.

"Answer my question!" she shrieked.

"My, Granger. Where are your manners? But it's to be expected, you are a Mudblood after all. You're too uncivilised to have any," he spat. Her mind screamed in protest, _How dare he come here and insult me in my own home!_ But as she readied herself to stun him across the room, her heart skipped a beat when she saw his sneering expression. A devilish smirk played dangerously on his lips.

_This wasn't the boy I once knew_, she thought as she began to feel her confidence waver ever so slightly when she felt the full force of his glare come to rest on her. _It was rumoured that Malfoy had been utterly changed by the war. It was true. He wouldn't be as tolerant as before. __This is a game, and he wants to win once and for all._

To Hermione's surprise, he then resumed examining the drawings pinned to the board by the refrigerator. _What was he waiting for? What am I waiting for?! _Hermione was finally about to cast her spell when she heard Malfoy snigger as he inspected the picture even closer, "Didn't know you were so artistic, Granger. Only thought you were— ".

She had given him time to make his move, and he had not said word or taken arms against her. She would not wait any longer.

"Where the hell are they?!" She yelled, her shouts piercing the silence within the darkened kitchen. He turned to study her raging form. After a moment his lips pulled further apart fashioning a mischievous grin once more. He was trying to rile her, to make her slip took in a shaky breath, trying to quell her impetuous anger and regain control of the situation. Looking up, she locked eyes with Malfoy.

"Who?" An eerie innocence flooded his voice, as his face turned blank, but his eyes alluded to his lies. She felt sick as she spotted the evil gleam that reflected in them. Throwing a quick stunning spell in his direction she sprinted up the stairs hoping to find her parents and escape as fast as she could. Looking up and down the hallway, she ran to the closest door and swung it open.

As soon as her foot crossed the threshold, Hermione felt someone grab a hold of the back of her robes and slam her into the wall with such a force that she nearly collapsed to the ground. Hermione tried to fight against him, but his hands found her arms and forced them beside her thrashing body. Grey eyes bored into her amber ones.

"Haven't you ever heard of apparation, Granger? You are a witch after all," His eyes slowly raked over her tensed body, "And a filthy one at that."

Managing to get her arm loose from his hold, she slapped him, relishing the mixture of shock and anger that painted itself across Malfoy's face. Just as his emotions consumed him, the red imprint of her hand glowed as it contrasted sickly with his pallid cheek. She knew she was staring into the face of danger, but she wouldn't let him degrade her any further.

Malfoy suddenly gripped her even tighter and again he focused his stormy eyes on her face, staring expectantly into her defiant eyes.

She immediately felt something pressing against her consciousness. He was trying to get into her thoughts. She tried to occlude her mind, but it proved fruitless. He was a competent Legilimens and ripped her barrier to shreds in a matter of seconds. She was utterly aware of him as he toured her mind, sifting through her thoughts and memories. Rapidly, he began to delve deeper, observing intimate and memorable moments in her short life: being sorted in to Gryffindor, the flood of relief overwhelming her; the troll in the girls bathroom; the minacious glare of the Basilisk; punching Malfoy square in the jaw in their third year; the pure astonishment on people's faces when they saw her enter the Great Hall with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball.

She suddenly spotted the present Malfoy standing beside her fifteen year old self as she chided Ron and Harry at the ball. _What? How can this be?_

"How sweet," She heard the voice echo within her mind, as the young pureblood ran a finger delicately across the face of the memory's Hermione, "You should dress up a bit more often, Mudblood. Maybe then you might get little Won-Won's attention!" She could see an evil smirk playing temptingly on his lips.

Hermione tried to occlude her mind again, attempting to empty herself of all emotion, as Harry had once remarked after one of his lessons with Snape. It was all too much to bear that she could hardly make a stance against his attack. She felt that Malfoy knew what she was trying to do. Swiftly, he halted, coming to look her straight in the eye.

"Tell me where the Order is?" He shook her body, threatening to read her mind once more, "No? Well, I'll just continue then, shall I?"

"Please stop," She cried. It was as though he was raping her mind, nothing was a secret. She couldn't bear it, some things she could barely do once; she didn't want to have to relive them again, especially alongside Malfoy. There were moments she wanted to hide away from and forget, but that didn't matter to him, he just carried on nonetheless.

In spite, he pushed harder against her mind, impervious to her protests, wanting to deepen his search even further to find something more delightfully personal. He caught glimpses of Sirius's death in the Department of Mysteries; her despair as she saw Lavender Brown kiss Ron; the ecstasy she felt when she witnessed her Patronus for the first time during the DA meetings. However, all of these memories paled in comparison to the last, Hermione being brutally tortured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, the agony she felt surged through her brief recollection. The memory featured everyone, even the youngest Malfoy standing silently, watching on as his aunt gave her prey another helping of the Cruciatus Curse.

Suddenly, she realised he had stopped.

"Let go of me, Malfoy," She half sobbed as he squeezed her wrists even harder, forcing her to drop her wand to the floor. She saw the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. In situations such as these, even after what he witnessed of her perilous life, Malfoy still managed to keep frighteningly calm. _The sole good thing he inherited from his arrogant father_, Hermione thought snidely as he loosened his hold.

Still staring intently at Hermione, he suddenly looked away, a sombre look bleeding onto his deceivingly angelic face.

"Please just answer me. Where are my parents?" She cried silently. She stared intently at his face for a moment trying to decipher what he might do next, but nothing would prepare for what he was about to say.

"Run," He returned his gaze to Hermione. "Get away, before it's too late." He was interrupted when she heard the ominous screech of Bellatrix Lestrange's infamous cackle come from the open window. An echo of the past of when Voldemort's lethal assassin had killed Sirius, when she tortured Hermione until the witch could no longer stand. Her eyes darted back to the young wizard's face, looking frightened and expectant.

"Wha— what?" Hermione whispered as she reeled back further into the wall behind her, "Why are you doing this?"

"Where is that filthy little Mudblood?! Draco better find her quick. I look forward to finishing it off! Disgusting thing can follow her parents!" Hermione pushed against Malfoy's motionless body, who willingly released the witch. She scrambled up to the window in time to see her mother as she knelt on the floor over her dead husband. _Dad!_ Hermione began to scratch at the handle, attempting to push the window open further.

"Ooh," Her parents' tormentor screeched, "You miss him, do you? Maybe I'll be kind and kill you as well," Hermione looked up, thinking she was addressing her, but only saw Bellatrix as she tapped her finger against her chin in contemplation, "Not before a little of fun I think!" She saw as her mother began to writhe in pain, collapsing to the floor alongside her spouse as her tormentor brandished her wand menacingly.

"NO!" Hermione started banging against the glass hoping to catch the Death Eater's attention. But her screams were muffled as a hand clamped over her mouth from behind. Hot tears began to gush down her flushed cheeks, as though a dam had broken and nothing could hold back the sob that burst from her mouth, even the hand that still held firm against her trembling lips.

"Shut up, Granger, and just trust me for once. I'm indebted to you, so let me help you," He growled, infuriated by her stubbornness and foolishness. Now it was his turn to threaten her, "Now do as I say or so help me Merlin, I'll kill you myself before my aunt can!"

She felt his wand dig ruthlessly into her flesh. She lashed out against him as she felt the dread and agony ripping her apart. She wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else, somewhere safe with her parents. _Even if it means being stuck in a bloody closet with Cormac Mclaggen! _She would do anything.

He held her tight, hoping to stop her, "Granger, I'm not what you think I am."

She suddenly went silent. No tears. No threats. Nothing. Not a word passed her lips for what seemed hours, yet had only been a few moments. It was as though she had passed into a state of shock. Her body began to convulse and shiver, as she clung even tighter to her assailant's robes. The dizziness began to claim her hazy mind; a sudden emptiness hollowed her out entirely. She couldn't do anything but replay her parents' deaths over in her mind again and again, her grief and distress was too overwhelming, clouding her normally proficient logic.

"He's coming," the words rolled off his tongue as though the world had been set in motion again. Hermione shivered. Yet he just stood there confusing her with his words. It was saying one thing and doing another. He was almost insane as his aunt!_ Sadistic bastard!_ Her mind screamed. Though immobile with her unexpected anguish, she told herself, _Do this for Mum and Dad, Hermione! Fight for them! _

"I'm warning you, Granger. I'm trying to help you. Don't make this anymore difficult!" He spun her around and glared at her as she thrashed against him. She felt him jerk her forward keeping a firm hold of her wrist. However, pausing briefly as he noticed her anguish ridden face. The Pureblood was somewhat taken aback at the brokenness in her normally glinting eyes.

Spotting her only chance of escape, Hermione ruthlessly shoved Malfoy away from her with all she could muster, making a mad dash over to where she'd dropped her wand. Hurriedly, spinning around to scream _Incarcerous_, she was met by a beam of red light as Malfoy directed a Stunning Spell at the breathless witch.

He had finally given up on trying to physically restrain the mutinous and wild Hermione having decided to turn to magic instead. Quickly, he began to manoeuvre her down the stairs as fast as he could without the others hearing. Malfoy incensed by her untimely show of aggression and stupidity for one so smart and relatively docile, he carried her down the garden path toward the front gate, literally dropping her to the ground as they reached the only safeguard he could find: the woods.

Speedily, citing the counter spell, he waited for her to run to safety like a bat out of hell, but she just stood there, still hesitantly leaning on Malfoy for support.

"Granger, would you just apparate already! You're going to get yourself killed if you don't bloody well hurry up!" He looked down at her tense body, as she quickly snatched her wand from his outstretched hand. Malfoy kept his eye on her for a moment as she receded into the shelter of the trees.

Only when he thought she was a good distance away did he turn back to the house. Yet just as he was nearing the front door once more, he felt something chillingly soft take hold of his wrist.

"Malfoy, here," he felt her shove something cold into his rigid hand, "If ever you change your mind…as to where your loyalties lie. I — we will always try to help anyone, no matter who or what they are."

Hermione gazed at him for a split second as he processed what she had told him. Taking his nod as confirmation, she turned to sprint back into the little wood. But before she eventually apparated away to 12 Grimmauld Place, she saw Malfoy point his wand high above his head. An eerie green glow flew out forming the shape of a snake and skull that etched itself into the inky night sky. Hermione instantly recognised it as the Dark Mark, dirtying the sky above where the lives had been taken of those intended, for the exception of herself.

She just hoped she had done the right thing, giving Malfoy her Protean-charmed Galleon. As soon as she thought it safe she would inform him where he could go if, as she said, _he ever changed his mind_. But uncertainty still hung around like a spectre in her mind.

As the grim, black door of the Order's headquarters appeared in front of Hermione, she thought back to what had happened. The realisation that Malfoy might have actually done something kind let alone altruistically made Hermione feel like she had entered a parallel universe. Never in a million years had she thought she'd see the day that Malfoy ever did anything that wasn't in his favour. By allowing her to escape from a fate such as her parents', he had ultimately put himself in her stead. He would be tortured possibly even killed for allowing his victim to get away freely and unscathed.

As she took the final steps toward safety, her sobs broke through, as she felt her heart being shred to pieces by the death of most beloved parents. As soon as she opened the door she collapsed in a heap by the troll's leg umbrella stand. Blankly, she watched as a blur of faces and bodies suddenly swarmed around her trembling body, their worried calls deafened by the screams of the late Walburga Black.

**Author's Note: Reviews are lovely! I do love to hear what my readers have to say. Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

_"Men in rage strike those that wish them best." - William Shakespeare_**  
**

The stinging reminder of her parents' death made the disconsolate witch weep incessantly. Her mother and father's loving faces that had been safely locked in her memory were now fading into the past, washed away by the horrific image of their lifeless bodies. The memory was just too much to bear, and the pain weighed heavy on her grieving mind. She screamed in agony as Bill, the eldest son of the Weasley clan, carried her up the stairs to the room she shared with Ginny. She clutched herself tighter to him as she heard the soothing words and wild shouts of those around her, all she wanted was to drown it all out, their worried voices willing her to tell them what had happened.

Never had she ever felt compelled to fear death or at least to the extent she was exposed to that night. Seeing someone so close to her murdered before her very eyes was enough to drown her mind in unease. Though Hermione knew she was safe and surrounded by friends and mentors, all she could see was the face of Malfoy with his platinum blonde hair and haunted grey eyes. His predominant features masked the various reds, blacks and browns of the onlookers who witnessed her collapse into delirium. Their eyes wore the eerie look of Malfoy's that had pierced her very soul, injecting the dysphoria he felt as he allowed her to escape into the woods.

He had let her go so willingly, she did not know whether to be relieved or angry at his decision. He could have stopped what had happened, prevented the murder of her parents. _Why couldn't the bloody coward use that same ounce of courage that he had shown to save me to save my parents as well?!_ Her scream of angry frustration triggered yet another onslaught of tears, as her mind queried his unusual behaviour. She had never seen Malfoy wear anything but disgust when she was in his presence, his pride and strict pureblood upbringing prevented him from doing anything otherwise. Sincerity was not something she had ever thought she would associate with a Malfoy, let alone Draco Malfoy. She had no clue what was worse, the fear that she may lose her mind with the swell of unanswered questions or the sound of the rugged thump of her heart that teemed in agony from her loss.

As quickly as possible, Mrs Weasley began to usher everyone out the room, closing the door trying to prevent a huge contravention amongst those being shut out; no one needed to see Hermione until she was ready. But they all know that something, someone had died. It was only later when reports flooded in to the Order that they knew why Hermione had come to them almost driven crazy in her grief.

The once merry middle-aged witch that Hermione had first met was replaced by a weatherworn and weary mother that had seen enough deaths to last a lifetime. The redheaded woman came and placed herself close to Hermione, wrapping her arms around the grieving girl as she heaved with the difficulty of breathing. All night she sobbed into the mothering arms of Mrs Weasley until she could no longer breathe, the putrid smell of death still clinging to her crazed mind. She had so wished it were her own mother cradling her to sleep like she did so many years ago when she was only a mere child. Amongst the hours of crying and the comforting embraces of the Weasley matriarch, she fell into a fitful sleep.

For a brief moment she felt completely lost, unaware of where she was when her sleepy trance was disturbed by a peculiar noise. _Creak_. There it was again, the creak of an old floorboard that had pulled her away from her restless sleep. Looking across the room to the other bed, she noticed a small mound of red hair fountaining over the mountain of sheets, her steady breathing and sporadic snore was evidence that the youngest of all the Weasleys was sound asleep. The red of her hair, reminded the onlooker of something, but she could not quite put her finger on it. Then her mind was overrun by the unexpected blast of a green light, the skull and serpentine shape scarring the aphotic night sky.

Hermione swiftly remembered all that had come to pass, all that she wished had never occurred. The aching feeling she had felt before was subtly creeping into her once more. Her heart clenched in pain. Curling up and drowning her sobs into her pillow, Hermione shut her eyes hoping to quickly fall back into another slumber. She just wanted to go back to sleep, forget it all again, but the quiet knock at her door soon found her awake and alert, its insistent tapping giving Hermione the incentive to get up and stop it.

"Hermione? Hermione?" A voice whispered beyond the closed door._ Harry?_ She quickly flung the heavy quilt off her trembling body, silently edging herself off the side of her bed wishing not to wake Ginny. Grabbing her wand from the chest of draws, she cautiously opened the door, revealing the worried and drawn faces of her two closest friends. Hesitantly, they stared at one another unsure of what to do or even what to say. A beleaguered Ron shuffled slightly under Hermione's spiritless stare whilst Harry cast condoling glances towards her. She now knew what he felt every day of his life. Death hung over like an oppressive sheet of power that only brought about thoughts of sadness, not allowing a single good memory to ease itself in. He too evaded her unengaged and red rimmed eyes— her stare resembling that of a porcelain doll. To disguise the awkward moment both boys decided to run forward and engulf her in a long awaited hug, clashing momentarily into one another. This occurrence caused a strangled but quiet laugh to befall on Hermione.

"Boys," She smiled slightly, managing to pull the corners of her mouth up for a couple of seconds, but ultimately her mirth disappeared into the darkened crease of a frown.

As they squeezed her in a tight embrace, she felt Ron plant a gentle kiss against her cheek, "I'm so sorry, Hermione," She pulled away examining their faces, noticing that it was not only her eyes that were spiked with tears but those of her friends' also.

"Thank you," she managed to mumble and they gazed on her anxiously. It was so difficult to explain to them coherently of what she was thinking, when she could not even properly piece together her thoughts herself. Her mind was a torrent of 'ifs' and 'buts'. Never had she been so confused in her life. Nevertheless, her ramblings always brought her back to the same thing, which was Malfoy. She just could not think of how to explain to them what had happened without them being blinded by their prejudice towards the arrogant pureblood that had caused them hell at Hogwarts.

_Despite what I know they might think, I have to tell them_, she thought resolutely.

After a slight pause, she led them down to the deserted kitchen edging quickly past the painting of Sirius's mother hidden from view by a threadbare drape. She definitely did not want to set off the woman's siren-like screams once more. It was enough to send anyone insane, especially if one was immured into a cramped and suffocating place such as 12 Grimmauld Place.

As the others were settling themselves down, Hermione stared into the dying embers of the fireplace; the last flickers of the spiralling flames reminded her of a snake's spitting tongue, forked and deadly. It was as though everything was a reminder of the previous evening. She could not quite recall how long she had slept, but it did nothing to erase her memory of those gruesome events.

Quelling her mind of the ebbing memories, she turned to the two boys carefully calculating and premeditating on how she might start her puzzling account. Whilst she was relating to them what had occurred, she daren't look at them in fear that they may stop and question her. She shed no tears. Her body seemed unwilling to do so. Even as she managed to get the words out, she only stumbled over a few. She felt some things were best left unsaid or forgotten as they would never understand. Yet she could not even prevent herself from drawing out the most irrelevant and inconsequential of events. When trying to describe Malfoy's actions and looks, she could never quite fathom even from her description why he had saved her. Everything he did seemed to be at odds; some extinguished any solution she may have found for his strange behaviour, others fuelling her towards a problem that could never quite be solved.

"It was Malfoy. It was Malfoy who saved me," She noted as she ended her relation, still shocked to notice the blatancy of her statement. Finally, she looked up, nervously awaiting Harry and Ron's response to what she had told them. Harry's face closed in thought, contemplating on what Hermione had just revealed to them. He regarded her carefully. Harry knew she would never lie, because she couldn't. All he could do was look at her in disbelief. The war had taught him to think and assess situations at hand, rather than act or speak rashly.

She nodded knowing that he understood her predicament, "I just don't understand why. He had been so set to kill me— well at least hand me over to his aunt to finish off the job. I mean that's until he…performed Legilimency on me," She shuddered. Just thinking about Bellatrix Lestrange and Malfoy reading her mind gave her the chills. She had been so close to being tortured for the Order's whereabouts that she could hardly believe that it had not happened.

Harry opened his mouth to respond when Ron decided to speak up, breaking his previous bout of stupor.

"He did what?! What do you mean he performed Legilimency on you?! I'll murder that inbred ferret!"

She recoiled slightly from his outburst. She had never seen Ron show that amount of hatred before, even when he had heard of Snape's betrayal and murder of Professor Dumbledore. He hadn't shouted so much as an angry threat or curse towards their former Potions teacher that it now seemed inconceivable that he had it in him to be as fired up as he was.

As she remembered how Malfoy looked when he had finished carrying out Legilimency on her, it proved that her memories must have frightened him just as much as it did when she had first experienced them. He had ruthlessly dragged them out examining them like a Healer at St. Mungo's would inspect a wizard who had been diagnosed with Dragon Pox, and as easily as it was to find Flobberworms the most boring magical creature ever discovered.

"I—" She began to explain, but was interrupted by Ron's ongoing tirade. He was animatedly describing how he'd kill the whole Malfoy family for what the youngest had done, gesticulating his hands and arms that resembled faulty semaphores.

"Just shut up, Ron! He saved my life! I'd be dead if it weren't for him!" She screeched. She didn't care if she woke the whole bloody house up, she would not let Ronald Weasley continue to speak to her like an inept and fickle child.

"Hermione, I can't believe how stupid you've been! Can't you see it was a trap?! He did it to gain your trust! And you fell for it! Merlin, Hermione, you even gave him your bloody DA coin! That's not the Hermione I know!" She shot a poisonous glare at him, hoping it would make him be silent. It was one thing to challenge her on belief that Malfoy may have been sincere in wanting to save her and without ulterior motives, but to call her gullible and brainless was another matter entirely.

"Ron," Harry warned, but his admonition fell on an ear that was deaf to it. Harry looked to Hermione when he started to feel the charge of her magic as her animosity bred and manifested itself from Ron's continual impromptu abuse. It pulsed with power as her frown deepened, a small whirlwind caught hold of loose papers that lay helplessly unanchored to the table flinging them around the room. As her power grew it knocked cups and plates off the shelves, shattering them into sharp-edged pieces of pottery that rest like mosaics across the kitchen tiles. As she reached her breaking point, her magic suddenly directed itself toward the fire, breathing the much needed life into it to keep it burning. Though it wasn't all it did. The magic sent the flames into a chaotic flurry that engulfed its surroundings, as though it were the gateway to Hell that had been opened. The flames turned a violent shade of green that charred the remaining logs into nothing more than ash. It was as though a young child had thrown a handful of Floo powder into the grate too willful to listen to their parents' warnings.

Shocked, Ron shrank away from his position over the impassioned witch, hoping to reduce the tension between the two with that one movement. He looked to Harry who then stood and grabbed hold of Ron's arm pulling him further away as Hermione rose rancorously from her seat. Fear flashed across the two boys' eyes. Never had they imagined that Hermione would take to insults so badly, igniting a fury that could not be stopped until it destroyed everything in its path, much like the unmerciful wants of Fiendfyre.

Nervously, as Harry and Ron backed themselves towards the closed door, the latter attempted to make amends, trying to placate her uncontrollable rage, "Hermione, please, I didn't mean—"

His apology was cut short when Hermione voiced her hostile threats, "Shut up! SHUT UP!" She screamed so loud that it echoed around the room. Her wandless magic caused the glasses that decorated the many cabinets to explode, forming a cloud of glass. They glinted ferociously from the roaring fire that shone throughout the dank kitchen, beautiful but lethal.

As Ron turned to run for the door, the countless splinters of glass flung themselves towards the target of her wrath. A devilish glow encircled the young witch, an aureole which conflicted entirely with the image one would normally associate with deities and Saints. Her face was the very picture of evil, something that was purely wrong in its own right.

Quicker than she could think it was possible, Harry jumped in front of Ron, whipping his wand out of his robes and yelled _Protego_. A lustrous shield wrapped itself around the two boys, protecting them from the injurious onslaught of Hermione's unrestrained magic. Even though the spell reduced the shards of glass into nothing more than bits of sand, one piece managed to skim through unscathed before the defence was put up by Harry, hitting its intended target.

Hissing in pain, Ron drew back with his hand placed protectively over his cheek. Harry spun around to check his friend as Hermione took a step back in astonishment when she gazed upon what she had done. The whole kitchen was a mess, a sight not so different from the damage she has witnessed during the Battle of Hogwarts. However, that sight was not what caused her blood to curdle.

Her eyes rested on Ron. His eyes betraying the fear and hurt that he felt towards Hermione. He pulled his hand away from his face revealing a huge gash across his cheek, scarlet blood oozed profusely from the wound dripping down until it was soaked up by his vividly orange Chudley Cannons shirt.

She shook her head, reaching her hand out to touch his blood-spattered face. How could she have done this to him? It was as though her body had been taken over by some irrepressible force. Her heart beat in anguish as she saw him retreating as he looked down at her. All she saw was a solemn mask covering his normally bright eyes and goofy smile as his voice full of sorrow whispered her name.

"Ron, I— I'm sorry," She cried as he rushed out the door, shaking the whole room and sending a bit of lose plaster to the floor as he swung it open. It was not a surprise to Hermione that a crowd of frightened and questioning faces encompassed the little hallway outside the door. As soon as she spotted him bounding up the stairs, she peaked at Harry standing beside her. His eyes shone with understanding as he reached out to touch her on the shoulder. He too had felt the effects of the war what with the death of Sirius that had been only a few years before. He knew the confusion and anger that she was experiencing, and would never put what had happened against her. As for Ron, he wasn't able to tell if he would be as forgiving.

As she looked out into the dim corridor, she noticed the timid smile playing on Mrs Weasley's lips, as the anxious mother spoke, "My dear, are you all right?"

Silence.

She turned to the mass of witches and wizards clad in their diverse sets of pyjamas behind her, "Come, back to bed everyone," No one dare go against her wishes when they saw her give her fiercest glare, the one that could tame a Chimaera to do her bidding, which had in the past been reserved to scold her seven children when they were errant.

Turning to Harry one last time before he went to find Ron, she whispered, "Harry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I—" He nodded as if to say they would discuss it later. A sad smile played on her lips momentarily until she saw the faces of Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ginny, Bill, Fleur and George. They all wore an expression of uneasiness as they looked back at her as they scaled the stairs. _I can't handle this anymore!_ Her mind screamed as she tried to edge up the staircase without having to meet anyone's eye as she passed them. Though she knew if ever they found out what had truly happen they would never have reason to want to look at her ever again.

Hurriedly, she sprinted up to the first floor taking two steps at a time ignoring the walls adorned with the heads of house-elves. Doing so, she also tried not to notice the drops of blood that had emblazoned themselves into the steps of the dilapidated staircase— a shameful reminder of her actions. Reaching the landing she hastened down the hall to hers and Ginny's room, pushing the door slightly, she scurried through into the Cimmerian gloom with only a slim beam of light coming from the hall. She couldn't face Ron now, like she had planned. She would put her friend into further danger, if they fell out a second time that evening.

Quickly reciting a lighting spell, she rummaged through her trunk, hoping to find what she was in search for. Her hunt became frantic as she was nearing the bottom, only finding the odd quill and her old and battered copies of _Standard Book of Spells,_ grades one to seven. She just could not remember where she had placed it.

In a huff, she slammed the lid shut, turning toward the huge closet that dominated half of the wall, the wallpaper behind it dark and unsullied from its protection. Then again, the same could not be said for the rest, which was ruined by the amount of mildew and woodlice that infested the surrounding walls from the many years during the original owner's incarceration in Azkaban. Opening the closet doors, she discovered nothing more than a rack full of moth-eaten clothes belonging to various deceased members of the House of Black.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" The small voice was alarmingly close, causing the young witch to end her search early. She turned around, coming face to face with her redheaded roommate. Smiling quickly, she feverishly grabbed on to Ginny's shoulders, shaking her as she spoke, hoping to get across the state of urgency she was in. She must have looked absolute insane.

"Where is the DA coin I gave you?" Ginny's face was the personification of worry, never had she seen Hermione Granger act so peculiar. She put it down to grief, but something in the witch's demeanour made the youngest Weasley ever so hesitant to hand the Protean-charmed Galleon over.

"I— it's on the desk. Why do you ask?"

"Do you mind if I borrow it?" Without even an answer Hermione ran and swiped at the coin lying amongst a mountain of books and papers. Pointing her wand at it, she whispered the Protean charm under her breath and concentrated as she began to alter the image of the Dragon on the Galleon to that of a small riddle. This only made the coin grow crimson as though someone was burning lithium. Its red light dimmed in a matter of seconds, sending the room into darkness once more. In spite of this, the bright light had engraved the words temporarily on her lids so that she could reread the little puzzle she had sent to Malfoy.

_Beside St. James Is Where I Will Be, Where The Heavenly Palace Is Overseen By The Roving Eye Of Father Time._

"What did you just do?" Ginny queried, as Hermione placed the coin back on the desk amongst the untidiness that was obviously her friend's doing and trundled into her cold bed, burrowing down under the layers of sheets and quilts.

She looked across the room catching a glimpse of a pair of blue eyes in the dimly lit bedroom and hearing the rustle of blankets as the young girl climbed into her bed. Silently, she held her breath for a moment as she thought of what to say.

"I'm doing the right thing," she stated, and yet all Hermione could see was the anguish ridden face of her much-loved friend. As he held his hand away from his blood-smeared cheek, the gash resembled the scars from Fenrir Greyback's attack on his eldest brother. The image shone with sickening clarity, enough to make her stomach flutter with uneasiness.

"I hope," She whispered doubtfully to herself. Once again she prayed she had done the right thing in the end.

A hundred miles away, the coin's counterpart shone, alerting its new master as it burned against his pale skin. He pulled it from his pocket, flipping the coin in his hands, remarking on its genius. All he could do was smirk as he looked up into the night sky.

**Author's Note: Thank you for everyone that reviewed it was extremely kind of you. Keep reviewing though. If you are not a Fanfiction member I believe it's still possible that you can write reviews! If you haven't yet, go onto my profile and watch some of the amazing videos that people made for this fanfic! Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

_"None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet still we go forward. Because we trust. Because we have faith." - Paulo Coelho_**  
**

Taking a huge breath, Hermione steadied herself for the stares she would receive as soon as she stepped into the small kitchen. Was it only paranoia that was spawning her apprehension on the situation at hand?

The night before had single-handedly become one of the worst she had ever experienced and she was ready to make amends as quick as she could. Her hand rested on the doorknob. Her heart tingled with a rush of trepidation, flooding her veins as she slowly pushed on the door. All conversations ceased when they spotted her standing uneasily in the doorway. From every point of the compass they were watching her closely, noticing the forlorn and doleful expression that was smeared across her face. _This is going to be a very long day._

The only noise that could be heard was the crackling of the presently placid fire and the slight gurgle that came from Bill and Fleur's little baby girl, Victoire. Her blonde hair shone uncommonly bright in the dark room, a mirror image of her mother's. She would be beautiful when she grew up. Hermione could see the way people were already drawn to the baby, ensnared by her Veela-inherited traits.

Hermione smiled hoping to pacify the awkwardness that hung about the room and on all their faces. They seemed to feel more at ease as soon as she did, timidly smiling back, some having enough courage to pipe up and greet her. Though she couldn't quite shift that heavy feeling from heart as easily. She knew it took time to heal— from her actions, from her loss, but she was damaged somehow. A piece of her was missing, perhaps not for forever, but until she retrieved what she had lost, or something to fill the hole.

Everyone was there except the person she was so desperate to speak to. What had irrevocably etched itself into her memory taunted her mercilessly all that night. Her mind would be haunted by her actions until she found Ron, only when she saw the gleam of forgiveness flash across his eyes would she be at peace. She did not expect him to see eye to eye on issue of Malfoy's apparent defection, but she did not want to make enemies of her only allies.

She knew she had to inform the others of her meeting with Malfoy. Yet dubiety still pumped around her, a never-ending cycle of indecision that related to the youngest Malfoy. No one would understand except Harry. However, with the presence of all the residents of 12 Grimmauld Place, she was not tempted to face the same reaction that she had been greeted with the night before.

Sitting down as quietly as she could, she began to nibble on a piece of toast wanting to settle the nauseous feeling that was spreading throughout her stomach. It was like she had used the Time Turner for the first time, her fear had evaporated and her confidence had boosted from the feat, but sickness still resided from her waxing anxiety. Mrs Weasley sidled toward Hermione with a plate of food that held enough eggs and bacon to feed half the students at Hogwarts. She grinned as she gently placed the young witch's breakfast down in front of her, warmly patting her on the back. Hermione nodded in appreciation as she dug down into the mountain of food, although, she soon returned to eating toast.

As Hermione looked up to ask for the jug of Pumpkin juice she was met with an ambush of more than half a dozen pairs of eyes. Clumsily, she took hold of the handle of the juice, her hands shaking so much that the juice nearly spilled on herself and those around her. Harry continued to gaze on, watching as his most loyal friend was becoming the living embodiment of Trelawney before their very eyes. She was still nervous about what had happened the night before, unsure of her decision.

"So, did anyone hear about the match between the Montrose Magpies and the Harpies?" He put forward waiting for someone to respond, wanting to break the silence and tear everyone's gaze away from Hermione.

"Oh, Lee couldn't resist. It was all over Potterwatch last night. Said they were literally neck and neck until Gwenog Jones knocked out Alasdair Maddock with that Bludger," George interjected. His face suddenly became animated and livelier than any had seen since the death of his twin. He still cracked a joke and played pranks at the expense of others, but they were few and far between. He knew what Harry was doing, and was all too willing to help.

Ginny's head snapped up as soon as she heard her brother's report of the match. The girl was very much a Holyhead Harpies fan and never allowed someone to slander their name, even if that someone was a member of her family, "You're implying it's Jones's fault. More like Maddock. The man's barmy! Last year he tried to hit the Quaffle with his head like they do in that Muggle sport, Toeball."

Most the table burst out laughing.

"It's Football," Hermione giggled. She knew Ginny sometimes had difficulty with Muggle Studies, but even so the amount Mr Weasley spoke about Muggles it was amazing she could get something so trivial wrong. Hermione may have been able to recite _Hogwarts: A History _as quickly as the redheaded girl could _Quidditch Through the Ages_, but the Muggle-born knew her knowledge was somewhat lacking still on Wizarding sports just as much as Ginny's was on Muggle sports. So it was a nice compromise, in Hermione's opinion. She could not help but smile at the young girl beside her.

Silence ensued, but it was far from being uncomfortable. Hermione then knew that she had their support; strengthening the faith she had in them. Far more relaxed, she stood planning to take the dish and wash it Muggle style. At least then she would have some time to think things over on what she must do. Yet when Ron stood in plain sight in the doorway, everyone froze again, reacting very much like they had when Hermione first walked in less than ten minutes before.

However being Mrs Weasley, the woman's grin never faltered, quickly taking the plate from Hermione's grip, she refused to allow her to do it the hard way.

"Go, my dear. I think someone wants to speak to you," Quickly shooting her son a warning glance; she tapped the young girl's shoulder edging her toward Ron standing in the doorway. He then took a step back and began to pace away up the stairs once again.

She scurried out of the kitchen, following her friend into the empty study, closing the door quietly behind her. She studied his every movement as though she were studying a set of runes, trying to decipher his blank demeanour from afar.

She could remember the aftermath of her attack, still recalling the stream of blood that trailed down his pallid cheeks, gaunt from the sudden change he saw in Hermione. But as she peered at him noticed that the gash was nowhere to be seen, like a slate wiped clean.

They stared at one another for a long while until he began to speak. Taking short, uneven breaths Ron steadied himself as he tried to look her in the eye, wanting to assure Hermione that he would not lose his temper as he had done the night before.

"Hermione, I hope you can forgive me—"

"Ronald Weasley," She interrupted. He took a wary step back, hoping he had not said the wrong thing, but as soon as he heard the gentle tine she addressed him with a wave of relief passed over him, "I should be the one apologising. Never in my right mind would I ever have done such a thing as to hurt you. I— I was in a bad place and my reaction was because of that and only that."

She saw his eyes soften. She felt the tears well up in her eyes when she saw it.

"I love you so very much, Ron."

His cheeks became flushed; a ruddy glow bestowed itself carelessly over his face, creating a haphazard pattern all over. She couldn't help but smile. Her love was something akin to platonic, but she knew he thought their relationship to one another was more than just friends.

He lent forward, closing the gap between the two of them.

It was the wrong time for this, especially during a war. But quieting her uncertainty that fought into her thoughts, she stepped forward and swiftly planted a kiss on his lips. Pulling away she looked on his peaceful face; he opened his eyes and smiled sweetly, but still slightly shocked. The last time they had kissed was amidst a battlefield, and then it felt more spontaneous and breathtaking. This time it was like a kiss of reassurance and forgiveness.

"Ron, just trust me," She whispered as he held her in a gentle embrace. She went to pull away but he held her tighter.

"I don't want to lose you, Hermione," He breathed into her ear. She looked up at his face dressed in worry. He too had felt the loss of someone and was so desperate not to allow anyone else he cared for to die at the hands of Voldemort. She had nearly died, but luck had been on her side. However, he got the impression that she may not be as lucky next time, especially if Malfoy was not there to protect her once more.

"Ron, I have to tell you. I contacted Malfoy last night," He began to object, but she put a finger against his lips, wanting to explain further.

"Tell Harry, but not the others. Unless something happens to me, only then should you inform them of my decision. Only then, Ron. Just trust me, trust my judgement. If I'm right this could be our chance to defeat Voldemort once and for all. And it's a chance I'm willing to take."

"Just promise you'll come back safely— for me at least."

"I can't promise you, but I will try," He held Hermione tight for a moment longer, before he let her go. Watching as she hurried out of the room, his heart beating faster than he thought possible. Malfoy would be a dead man if she came back hurt, and he, Ronald Bilius Weasley, would see to that personally if ever that were to happen.

The crisp morning air seeped through her coat, freezing her to the bone. The weather had turned for the worst and she was not prepared to walk all the way to meet a certain Draco Malfoy.

Making sure that no one was about, she apparated into the alley beside the pub aptly named 'Bag O' Nails'. She could hear men laughing from within as she spotted a cat steal away round the corner into the street teaming with the residents and visitors of London. Hastily escaping the stench coming from the overflowing waste, she walked out to join the crowds of people.

Hermione briskly walked down the street past Buckingham Palace, the hundreds of people that flocked from around the world stood staring through the black gates hoping to catch a glimpse of the Queen. It was amazing to think that even after the attack on London during the Death Eater raid a few years back that people still wanted to venture into London.

Yet the accident was put down as being a failure in the designs for the bridge, but who knew what lies the Minister of Magic fed the British Prime Minster. So long as the Wizarding world was not exposed by the careless and cruel acts of Voldemort's minions then any fabrication would suffice. She never once spotted a face, neither Muggle nor Wizard alike that she knew. She was not surprised that wizards would not roam London freely, yet it seemed to her, even with the events that had passed that to be a Muggle at the moment was safer than not being one.

Regardless, Hermione's thoughts still travelled ahead to her meeting with Malfoy, each time causing her to delay her arrival. She knew she had to persuade him to join in the Order's fight against Voldemort, but how much would he be risking by doing so? It was not a matter of just changing sides. He would have to face the repercussions if ever he were to be caught. His family, too.

Although she continually reminded herself that she would have to wait to speak to Malfoy before she worried about result of their actions. He would choose what path he would take, not her. But the risk she was taking was resting solely on his decision. If he decided to help, she could not deny him, but if he did not want to then she would be in a grim position. _This is foolish, Hermione! You don't even know whether he's worked out the riddle, let alone coming!_

Avidly watching those about her Hermione waited for any sign of Malfoy's presence. Many walkers were carrying bags from the thousands of shops that lined the streets of London. Some were jabbering on about an overbearing mother-in-law that was coming to annual dinner or the lack of time to buy the rest of the Christmas presents.

_Christmas?! Is it that time already?_

She shook her head. How could she have forgotten? Everything had become so muddled after her parents' death that she had no sense of time. It was strange; so much had passed in the past couple of days that it felt more like months rather than days. The pang of sadness fell over her as she thought of her mother and father, but she knew she must not let it win her over or else everything she had planned would go awry. Her plan to seek revenge on their murderer would be destroyed. This was her chance to do that. She didn't have the time to make a mess of it.

Allaying her sorrow, she watched the various little children playing by the pond as their worrisome mothers pulled them forcefully away. They were worried about the oncoming assault of rain and wanted to hurry home before it had time to strike. The clouds hovered above like an omen, blocking all light that had previously descended in beams of soft sunlight. Hermione smiled down at one particular boy who dragged his feet, tugging at the back of a woman's overcoat, who in turn was pulling him along, chastising him for his unruly behaviour.

"Grandmother, I don't want to go!" His mousy brown hair turned a sudden shade of green, as she turned and frowned upon the young boy.

"Teddy," It was Teddy Lupin, orphaned during the Battle of Hogwarts when the close followers of Voldemort had ruthlessly murdered both of his parents. She remembered him as a baby and even then he displayed uncanny similarities to both Professor Lupin and Tonks. Harry saw him as often as he could, bound by duty and love to his young godson. He wanted to be what Sirius had promised him, but never had a chance to fulfill. The wizard's vow had been tarnished over the past few months as Voldemort's attacks had increased in fervour and number. Less and less people were allowed to see Harry, even those the Order could trust. Everyone was a possible spy and precautions were needed to prevent anyone knowing his whereabouts. So, Teddy became one of many that had been cut out of his life, much to Harry's anger and dismay.

Looking around her, Andromeda Tonks hoped no one had noticed the abrupt change of her grandson's hair. Then at last her gaze landed on Hermione standing awkwardly amidst the reams of tourists. The young witch knew the woman had seen her, yet Andromeda turned and began to walk briskly away down the path with Teddy in tow.

Taken aback, Hermione could not fathom as to why she had snubbed her so. Trying to keep pace with the pair, she began to run toward them as they sauntered past the algae infested waters of St James's Park.

Practically lunging the last couple of steps, she reached them both, grabbing on to Teddy's shoulder with no intention of letting go until Andromeda spoke to her. The young wizard swivelled around like a shot, wondering who it was that was clinging onto him. Andromeda took no heed and continued walking, drawing the boy away and out of Hermione's hold.

"Andromeda?" Hermione queried as her brow knit in a tight frown as she stopped, numb with confusion. The woman glanced behind her briefly, waving her hand telling the witch to follow her.

"Keep walking. You must hurry, they're coming," Andromeda anxiously whispered to Hermione out of the corner of her mouth.

"Death Eaters?" She barely managed to get the two words out, fearing their presence once again.

"Draco said he was to meet you here, but some how _they_ caught wind of it. I came to warn you," The elderly woman watched on, noticing the confusion on Hermione's face stem into concentration as she formulated a plan in case of an unexpected attack.

"Where is he?"

"He will turn up as soon as he can, but Hermione, don't expect him to agree. He is very much the teenager you once knew at Hogwarts. Old prejudices die hard, but I know he wants this war to end just as much as everyone else. Give him a chance," She was about to ask how the woman knew of her plan to win Malfoy's allegiance, but was silenced as the woman started to walk even quicker.

Andromeda pulled her along as though she were little Teddy. Taking a huge breath, she waited as her nerves slowly got the better of her and her heart began to beat so fast that it was like a bird trying, in vain, to fight its way out of a cage.

As she steadily paced herself and her escalating heart rate, she felt someone move beside her, walking in exact unison with herself. Glancing at the newcomer out of the corner of her eye, all she saw was a figure clad in black, tall and slender. The stranger unexpectedly seized hold of her arm lugging her away from the Andromeda and Teddy, the latter still trying to follow Hermione even when his grandmother resolutely carried on with her trudge down the long path.

He held onto her arm tightly, not allowing her one moment to regain her footing as he pulled her away. Hermione turned to look upon the face of Draco Malfoy. Andromeda had been right he had decided to come. Her heart soared with gratification, but no sooner had she felt a sense of relief when it was quickly dragged asunder by her doubts that gnawed away as she looked at him. He veiled his face with a blank façade not betraying a single emotion.

Taking her under the shelter of the overhanging trees, his gaze finally laid rest on her distressed face. She smiled tentatively, watching as his eyes never left her, awaiting her reasoning behind meeting him.

"You worked out the riddle," He smirked at her. When she realised how blatant her remark was she nearly blushed in embarrassment, she hoped he would pay it no heed. But being Malfoy, she knew he would never let a mistake slip away, especially when the famous Hermione Granger made it.

"Of course, Granger. Or else I wouldn't have been here. To be honest, it was painfully obvious. Maybe being friends with Scarhead and Weaselbee has finally addled your brain," She sent him a dark look, but nothing could beat the intensity of his stormy eyes as he paused for retaliation. They still frightened her as much as before. His eyes had haunted her as she tried to sleep, invading her thoughts and dreams, turning to the plaguing nightmares of her uneasy slumber. It had only been a couple of days yet his eyes seemed to have been engraved in her memory from then on. He may have changed, but he still had a dark feel about him that she could not shake. He was not a friend but only an ally. Allies could be useful, but still had the potential to be hostile. They could turn to enemies as quick as wink and never bat an eyelash at their perfidy.

"I wanted to thank you—" She began as she reached out to touch his arm in gratitude, forgetting herself and who he was entirely. Malfoy whipped his arm away from Hermione's caress, sneering down at her.

"Do not thank me, Granger. Don't think I've changed,"

She looked on at him, antagonized by his inconsistent and contradicting actions, "Why are you doing this?"

He looked away, his mind in a state of turmoil, unsure of what he should do or say. She watched him as he stared across the small body of water, his eyes drawn to the little water display that cascaded gently down into the mucky waters of the lake.

"Malfoy just tell me. I can help. Let me help you so that we can end this war once and for all."

He shook his head in incredulity as he turned back around to gaze on her once more, "Don't you get it, Granger? I was meant to kill you that night. Why would you want me to help after what I put you through?"

"Dumbledore once tried to assist you. Let me give you the chance to take—"

"For Merlin's sake Granger! Dumbledore is dead! How do you think anyone can stop this war?! It will just keep going and going until everyone is dead or too afraid to fight! Forget peace, Granger, it will never come to be."

She looked around and saw many passers-by watching the two fixatedly as Malfoy finished his heated tirade, wishing he had not shouted as much as he had. She glared at him in disgust as he put the tree further between themselves and the decreasing amount of onlookers, the trunk practically engulfing both he and she in its magnitude. _This is pointless me doing this if he doesn't even want to try at least!_

Cursing his jaundiced ideals under her breath, she tried to get by Malfoy to locate Andromeda and Teddy, but a firm hand gripped onto her arm once more, roughly shoving her back against the trunk of the tree. She struggled against his hold hoping to break loose. As he had done that night at her parent's home, he held onto her forearms restricting her movement even further, pinning her down. The sharp pieces of bark slashed into her back like small knives from behind.

"What was that, Granger?" She swiftly looked away from the man as she caught onto the sinister tone in his voice as his hand shot up and grabbed her chin. Her eyes were wild with fear as he slowly leant toward her. She tried to push him away, but as hard she may try he would not relinquish his proximity.

Hermione could feel his weight increase on her as he lent in further. She tired to wrench her face from his vice-like hold, but failed. She did not want him to get any closer, the scene reminding her too much of the time before. And if she were correct she knew what he would do next as he gazed intently into her frightened eyes.

"Speak up, Granger. It's not very becoming on a woman to mumble," Her anger flared at his remark. _How dare he?!_ Tired of his insults her fury got the better of her, hindering her proper judgement.

"I said, 'You are nothing but an arrogant, vile bastard.' I stood up for you, even when my friends believed me insane for doing so! If you're that keen to be so much like your father then why don't you just run back like a sniveling little lackey" Wrenching her arm from her grip she slapped him hard across the face, a moment of déjà vu flashed before her eyes. This was the second time she had hit Draco Malfoy and this time she knew he might not let it go.

Furiously, he grabbed a hold of both her wrists, squeezing them so tight she thought they would snap in half. He glared down at her, his rage cast over him like a dark storm cloud ready to burst.

"You may have gotten away with this when we were younger, but if you ever slap me again, Granger—"

"You'll what?!" Anger had a tight grip on her senses, her worries and fear of Malfoy strangled and choking under the unbearable pressure.

As soon as the words passed her lips, she regretted it. She had enticed his anger far enough, but now she had practically walked into a lion's den, or rather into a pit of snakes.

He raised his hand high and struck her across the cheek. Hermione felt the astonishment wash over her as she tasted the blood oozing onto her tongue. Her eyes welled with tears, trying to choke back an impending sob. His eyes were dark as he inspected her face full of emotions. She could not see pity when she looked to him, only the feeling that his actions were just.

"If you hit me, Mudblood, I won't hesitate to hit you back harder."

Fear washed over her, as he slowly let go of her trembling body. She could hear a gust of shouts coming from a few metres away. They continued to stare at one another until they could clearly hear the voice of Andromeda Tonks beside the two, berating Malfoy's abusive behaviour.

"Draco Malfoy, I thought your mother taught you better than to strike a woman!" The woman ran forward and pushed him away from Hermione, cupping her hand against the swollen wound that spread across from the hit. The old woman's hands were shapped and cold; her delicate skin was so thin and pale that in some places you could see the blue tracery of veins that wrapped themselves around them.

"You know aunt, I find that when a woman strikes at a man, he has every right to do the same. Don't you?" The older woman looked on incredulous to his remark. He had been such an even-tempered child yet when something went against his wishes he was quick to break out in a fit of temper. Surely due to this spoiled upbringing. Even still he was her sister's son and she would never expect behaviour such as that to come from her. He must have gotten that from the Malfoys she concluded.

"Draco," She murmured gently to her nephew.

His face portrayed indifference as Andromeda spoke to him.

He took a deep breath, trying to quell his unseasonable anger. Something in her comment had riled, had hit home, and he hadn't liked the sound of it. Maybe because he knew that some part of, deep down, he knew she had tapped into his deepest fears: becoming a brainwashed victim of Voldemort's reign. Looking away quickly, he started to study young Teddy, as the boy's little inquisitive eyes watched the commotion attentively. Malfoy smiled at him trying act like nothing had happened only moments before. This change startled Hermione, sending her into a state of disbelief.

He quickly knelt down on the grass before his cousin, which caused both Hermione and Andromeda to watch on in curiosity, as he greeted Teddy. Malfoy held out his hand and showed that it was empty to the boy. They were slightly red. _Serves him right!_ She thought, but her satisfaction was snuffed when she saw no similitude with his cheek. It was as pale as before, not even a scratch seemed to register under her scrutiny.

He cupped his hands together and then pulling them away he revealed a small snake resting in the palm of his hand. It hissed slightly as it peered on the faces of the inspecting strangers. Leisurely, slithering out of Malfoy's hands, it began to slink towards Teddy, who looked on without any unease.

Andromeda made a move to stop it, scrambling for her wand, but Draco held up his hand, rising to his full height.

"It's alright. It won't harm him."

The creature wound its way up the boy's body until it rested in his tiny hands, and burst into angry green flames, uncovering a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Teddy's face lit up when he spotted the sweets, running forward as he hugged Malfoy's legs. Smiled down at the boy, little awkwardness in his response. He looked up at Hermione, locking her astonished gaze.

"Some things may appear to be dangerous on the outside, but you must wait before striking. Or else, they will become as murderous as you believe them to be."

Sirius had always noted how there was bad blood between the Tonks and the Malfoys, but it somehow seemed that the young Pureblood had better relations with Andromeda and Teddy than it was thought possible. The old woman had been disowned by her parents when she had run off and married someone that was decidedly below her station. Yet the familial bond that had been broken many years ago by a generation long gone seemed to have been mended. Hermione wanted to know how and why. But now was not the best time to ask.

"Tell me what it is that the Order wants so that I may leave," he demanded, impatiently waiting for Hermione to speak. He knew they had to leave soon.

"I didn't come by order of the others. I came based on what I felt was best. But I must have been wrong, mustn't I?" She shook her head in dismay. She was losing the chance to employ Malfoy's help, and each moment that passed the likelihood of that happening became slimmer and slimmer.

"Indeed. Your knowledge never ceases to amaze me, Granger," He turned and looked at her with a fierce glare, "Aunt, leave us for a while. We have unfinished business to attend to."

She began to protest, but Hermione smiled the best she could, patting Andromeda on the shoulder, "Take Teddy and go. It's not safe to stay here any longer."

Malfoy nodded in agreement.

The woman turned and looked into the face of her nephew. She saw the good in him, but she saw the bad that had rooted deep in his soul. She knew that a change was needed for the better, and this was it— this was his only chance to redeem himself. She placed her hand on his shoulder looking his in the eye, raising it to place it tenderly against his cheek. His face hardened. Andromeda smiled sadly.

"Take care, Draco."

With that she took her grandson's hand as he clung to her like a child would his mother. Hermione waved at the young boy as he turned back and shook his hand as though he were swatting away a pestering Billywig. Astonishingly, she noticed Malfoy was doing the same, a small, but strained smile playing on his pursed lips as he did so. That moment between him and his aunt held more meaning than what was openly revealed. And she knew deep down that Malfoy had been affected.

"It's rude to stare, Granger."

"I'm just amazed that a man like you could show such affection toward people who are technically _inferior_ to you, Malfoy."

"They're still my family, Granger."

He began to walk away towards the bridge that lay strewn across the small park. Chasing after him, she grabbed onto his arm, turning his body toward her slightly. His head snapped around, looking at a breathless and windswept Hermione. Her abnormally frizzy hair resembled some sort of muddy animal with enough tentacles to spare. Though he would not have cared to admit, her eyes haunted him just as his had done to her. Sleep had evaded him since the night at her home, the sickness consuming him after he saw all the life leave her in that one instance before she had broke out of his weakened hold.

"Tonight, be prepared," He pulled his shoulder from her grasp, wiping a patch of unseen dirt from where she touched his coat. Taken aback she ran after to query him, hoping to make sense of what he had said.

"For what?" He did nothing, but continued to walk across the bridge, paying no heed to Hermione's shouts. She tried again wishing he would answer her.

"For what, Malfoy?!"

"Oh you'll see, Granger. You'll see," Without a warning, he apparated away. The last thing she saw was not a devious smirk, but an expression full of earnest not surpressing the gravity of the situation. No one had seen him disappear, but as she gazed into the murky depths of the lake, she could not shirk the feeling that someone was watching her.

She looked up, hearing a whoosh, much like the one she had heard when travelling to her parents' home that fateful night. Short of Malfoy's supposed protection, she decided it was better to return to the safety of 12 Grimmauld Place, so she could prepare herself. What for? Merlin only knew.

**A/N: Thanks once again for all the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

_"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed and imagination." - Edgar Allan Poe_**  
**

That afternoon as she reentered the temporary residence of the Order, her mind was in a complete shamble as to what she would tell the others. She had gone in secret to meet the enemy, one that could potentially send them all to an early grave if trusted in too quickly. Her closest friends had been dubious of her decision that was solely based on the fact that Malfoy had been willingly let her escape death. However, even in the hardest of times she could always depend on their quick support. They had never questioned her intelligence and sense, as Harry and Ron knew she might have found the Order's only chance to bring an end to the ongoing war against Voldemort.

Gradually, she managed to exhale her long-held breath, as she quietly closed the door behind her. Hearing the lock click, she felt a wave of exhaustion and relief travel through her. She ran a hand over her face, as she tried in vain to wipe away the mounting stress that hung around her like an unforgiving fog. The stifling nature of her predicament was trying her patience. The rhythmic beat of the butterflies lacerated her insides, as uncertainty added the qualmish ingredient of anxiety to her churning stomach.

She looked about her at the grim surroundings of the hall. The molding ceiling, infected and dilapidated was something that would have been an absurdity during the golden age of the House of Blacks. The wallpaper was worn and weathered; it was almost as though it was tired of its own existence, fading slowly into the grimy grey that could be seen in the skies above London.

Shaking her head, she tried to unhinge the strange feeling that stuck to her like molasses. She had no time to waste on the disquieting emotions that beat against the confines of her mind. Malfoy had told her to be prepared, and she would be, but waiting for the unknown was like plunging into the watery depths of the Great Lake. Subsumed by the plethora of darkness that seemed to haunt the murky waters, it would be impossible to say if anyone could ever make it back unscathed— and more importantly alive. This blind faith that Hermione had could very much be the death of her as well as those that she cared about the most.

The brief moment was soon destroyed when she heard the sound of scrambling feet pacing hurriedly down the creaky staircase. Two heads emerged from around the corner, revealing Ron and Harry. The concern that was spread across their faces soon melted away when they saw her standing before them safe and sound. A small smile played on her chapped lips, before she ran her tongue over the stinging rawness. The glacial winds that she had struggled against had been intent on leaving their mark on her, whipping noisily about her as she had made her way back to apparate behind the dingy pub. Only when she entered the home, did she feel the warm draft from within. Although, the heat did nothing to thaw her gelid fears; her apprehension consumed her whenever she thought of her dwindling chances of survival.

Once again, the boys swarmed around her, swallowing her in a much-needed hug. Their friendship was like a cushion to her, she could always fall back on them for support. Yet Hermione could not help but wonder what would happen if it were taken away from under her. _Would I cope? Or would I become a broken woman? The spoils of this never-ending war?_

She pulled away from their embrace wanting to relay the urgency of the situation. Malfoy's warning had sent her mind into a chaotic frenzy. She had to tell the Order directly or else she ran the risk that her meeting with Malfoy would become a fruitless attempt caught in the wiles of fate.

"Where is everyone? I must speak to the Order now," Her speech came out in a breathless flurry. She touched Ron's shoulder and smiled at Harry. They knew something was amiss, the two boys could hardly deny that they saw the desperation in her amber eyes. The bruise that had coloured her cheek had disappeared with a flick of her wand, cleverly disguising the mark before she entered the dilapidated home. But they seemed to sense it. That something had gone on while she was away.

"In the kitchen," Harry worriedly mumbled out, intrigued by Hermione's bluntness. He held a finger out, pointing down the stairwell shrouded by looming shadows that made everything far more eerie. Her journey became more like a fight for courage, an inevitable trek towards her superiors who would define whether her newfound knowledge was worthy to consider or not.

Hitting the final step with a squeak, she waited before entering, listening to the conversations softened into muffled murmurs. Slowly, she pushed against the door, feeling the expanse of her task weigh heavily on her shoulders. Immediately, she could hear the mass of voices echo around the small kitchen. Like a chorus of altos and sopranos everyone was speaking at once trying to drown out the others, hoping they would finally be heard.

However, similar to when she made her way into the kitchen earlier that morning, the inhabitants fell into a comatose of utter silence. They all looked on, obviously suspicious of Hermione's presence. No one trusted anyone anymore. It was like the lights had been unexpectedly switched off. When Snape revealed where his loyalties had lied, he had sent everyone that was fighting for the Light into the darkness of paranoia. Anyone could betray the Order now; the only thing was who would it be next? She felt oddly ashamed of accusing them of this, but it was absolutely true in her opinion, it was just her job to try and end their distrust.

Her hand curled into a fist as she pushed the door open even further, their eyes still rested tentatively on her timid form in the doorway. Once Hermione shut off her only way of exiting, she sucked in a breath of air, as though it were her last. She just had to get it over and done with, and then she could face the consequences of blindly dealing with a Death Eater.

"I— I," The lack of any lucid behavior prohibited her from furthering her speech. Her eyes looked on imploringly as she spotted the majority of the Weasley clan assembled by the fire, Fleur's hair glimmering around her like a shroud of gold. Little Victoire snuggled in her mother's arms, peering around her without a care in the world.

She closed her eyes fearing the look of despair that she might see— possibly even in the baby's— once she explained her brief rendezvous with Malfoy not long before. Her lips trembled with the emotion that pervaded her mind, her throat began to constrict with the pressure that was building up within her. Resolutely, she started, hoping to be quick and clean about it.

_Just remember, Hermione, this could change the world for the better, save millions of honest people, people that never need to die._

"I met with Malfoy today. He said—" She shook her head thinking how silly and deranged she must have sounded to them, "He said to be prepared. I think he was trying to tell me— us to be ready for an attack."

She looked up warily catching the eyes of the others. Her heart banged noisily within her chest, causing her to question whether any second it would pop out as if it were the Warlock's hairy heart. Everyone looked on at her, lost in his or her own thoughts until Shacklebolt broke the silence with his bellowing response.

"I see," She detected that his voice showed no ounce of suspicion or wariness. His face was the picture of contemplation as he gazed upon her standing awkwardly by the doorway. Their eyes met, both sensing each other's honesty during their hesitant examining. Then as quickly as it had come, it disappeared once more as his eyes perused the taut faces of the other Order members. All at once they were at attention, surrounding Shacklebolt like a flock of children.

Hermione just stood there waiting, wanting to know why their faces were uncharacteristically calm, even after her revelation. Suddenly, aware of her presence once again, the ebony skinned man turned to her, an uneasy smile strained against his lips.

"Hermione, thank you," With a wave of his hand the door opened once more, revealing the gloomy and unwelcoming darkness that lay before her. She began to protest, her thoughts awry with confusion.

"But—" Yet his authoritative glance cut across her like the sting of a blade, bound by an unwanted silence. Her heart must have stopped from the shock that followed, never had she been treated thus, even by her less favored teachers and mentors.

"You may leave now," With that Hermione turned away, running back up the stairs as quick as she could, feeling the last of her courage being snatched away from her. Why were they being like that to her, all secretive with their equivocal remarks and replies? She had been invited into the Order under the pretense that she would be regarded more like an adult and an equal than a child.

Sullenly, Hermione slowed her pace as she neared the top of the stairs that led towards the comfort of her friends. As she did so her eyes couldn't help but wander to the mangled flooring at her feet. Bending down she spotted the unmissable stain of blood that had soaked into the sordid wood below her.

The sight brought back unpleasant memories of the night before. Hermione reached out, grazing her finger against the stain. Her heart clenched in aguish as she recalled Ron's bloodied face. If she did not tread lightly, it would not be anyone's fault but her own if she allowed something similar to happen like that ever again. She had entrusted her knowledge with the Order, and prayed that they would listen to her warnings as she had undoubtedly done with Malfoy's. But her heart pounded with the wrought-iron fear that made her blood freeze in her veins.

The grim thoughts made her flinch from her crouched position and compelled Hermione to make her way up the rest of the stairs. Rounding the corner, an empty foyer came into view, along with the surfeit of illegal artifacts that belonged to the home. The ones that bothered her most were the haunting faces of previous House Elves that were hung like trophies along the stairwell. Their saucer shaped eyes were sewn shut, their skin sagging with time. The elegiac aura that seemed to radiate off of them was undeniable. Sorrow struck her like a whip, hard and unforgiving. Everything she had fought for— their right for equality in wizarding society and the ban of servitude to their masters had been instantaneously crushed. If they lost the war not only would they be affected but also all those that were league with the Order.

Like a pack of stubborn cards, everything seemed to be stacked against her. One false move and it would come tumbling down on top of her. Malfoy could save her from the slaughter so long as he fought alongside her, like the ally that they were in much need of.

As she reached the landing, her body instantly began to gravitate toward the closed door of the library, instead of her friends. She needed time to think before she sought their advice. Even still the books from within seemed to be calling her name, beckoning her to step inside its confines. As the door slowly creaked open, she snuck a glance through the gap to be sure no one else was in there. It was empty save the number of books that fringed every darkened corner of the room. Leisurely, she rested her back against the termite eaten wood that paneled the walls, inhaling the alluring scent of the ancient tomes that huddled in the myriad of alcoves and shelves.

The library was far smaller than the one at Hogwarts, but the history that filled it dated back as far as the Founders and crammed with the darkest magic she could ever possibly imagine.

Heading toward the farthest wall, she was faced with a pile of books that she personally labeled as safe to read. During her scavenge in the library a few years prior she had come across countless books that had certainly been odd. Some would open to pages written in an archaic script that bore no resemblance to anything she had seen before, others were blank from back to front, not a word scratched or printed onto the paper yellowed by age. Yet, when Hermione first arrived she was admittedly intrigued by their contents, she remembered the destruction that knowledge could cause if misused and was quietly repulsed from then on. She knew curiosity only killed the Crup.

Hermione brushed her hand gently over the various covers, wiping the books free of the perversive dust, sending it into flight in the air around her head. Her hand shied away from certain books, often catching a glance of their titles, knowing she had not found the one she was specifically looking for. One slid from her grasp into the dais of books as she went to put it back, causing the pile to wobble backwards and forward like the swishing tail of Hebridean Black. Slowly, one by one the tower crumbled to the floor skittering across the floor as though gliding on ice.

With a huge sigh, she began collecting the fallen, checking their titles when the open pages met her weary eyes. The last of them resided closest to the dying embers in the fireplace. Its gold trimmed pages gleamed in the fading light like an iridescent topaz. There was something there that made her reach out and begin to sift through the leather-clad volume. Its heaviness weighed down on her thighs as she settled herself in the plush green cushions of the armchair. It sat near the warm comfort of the fire that set her face aglow like an Eastern deity of the worlds from long ago.

With the periodic movement of the turning pages she came face to face with the same elegant penmanship that detailed the extensive labyrinth of the Blacks' ancestry. It was an exact replica of the tapestry that used to hang in the adjacent parlor that had been hidden away in the library when Harry could no longer bear to see its presence any longer. Though it did not consist of the usual portraiture that accustomed each prestigious Wizarding name, it still had a record of every birth, death and marriage that occurred in the infinite confines of Pureblood society. She let her gaze run gently down the newest page, her finger coming to rest at the bottom. She studied the name as though it were the last piece to a puzzle, focusing on the curve of every letter. Her finger tip pressed against it, her nail imprinting a half-moon shape on the page.

Her mind began to wander; as she felt her eyes start to close of their own accord. Sleep was bleeding her awareness dry, and so she succumbed to a moment of sleepy tranquility.

All she could see were a pair of silver eyes that had burned themselves permanently into her mind. Hoping to rid herself of it, she tore herself from the velvety seat. Intently, Hermione looked up at the far wall, spotting the patchy and worn remnants of the infamous tapestry. She stood, oblivious to the book hitting the floor with a resounding thump. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she neared, the distinct flash of white was like a pinpoint of light on a cave wall amongst the pits and craters of the stony weaving.

She was so entranced that when the sudden sound of yelling and screaming seemed to catch her off guard. The library door swung open with such a force that it smashed into the wall. Beside it an antique mirror assembled into an intricate collage of metal and glass as it roughly kissed the floor below.

It was as though she were staring into an abyss. Beyond the door the hall was engulfed by darkness, save the few shafts of light that splintered through the gaps made by the shadow of bodies. The little light that was in the room was sucked by its presence, her only guidance torn away at the time it was most needed.

Hermione gazed on, as though in a dream as the horde of cloaked figures began to close in on her frozen form. Their skull-like masks did nothing to conceal the intruders' identities, she knew who they were, every last one of them. One stepped forward from the congealed mass; his gaunt cheeks mimicked the sallow demeanor of their disguise. His face was like the Angel of Death, calm and composed with an air finality. However, the fiendish smile that was tempted from his lips was none too comforting. The darkly clad figure slowly raised his wand, skillfully training it on her inert form.

Serenely, he lifted his eyes to hers, gradually closing the gap between the two with one lengthy stride. Stopping before her, he whispered to her as though in prayer. The Killing Curse dripped from his pallid lips like a drop of poison, exposing itself as a shot of green light that sped through the air towards her. She could remember his lips still parted, as she felt herself fall forward, collapsing into his embrace. Awkwardly, she lent on the broad expanse of his chest, the air between them cold as death. The cold dew of eternal rest evaded her a moment until she felt her angel bow his head in the curly tendrils at the hollow of her neck.

She still was aware of the tender caresses against her skin as she woke from her dream with a jump. Her heart beat at a phenomenal speed. She shook her head to clear it of the haziness of sleep, cracking her eyes open onto the gloom of the unaltered library. She had fallen asleep with the book still resting open on her lap, yet the gentle touches did not cease. Suddenly, she could feel the earth begin to tremble, the walls around her starting to shake. The vibrations dislodged the abundance of soot and dust that hung on the eccentric antiquities all around her, flicking huge amounts of it onto her. Hermione peeked down at herself, a film of stucco clung to her clothes and hair. She stood hoping to rid herself of the rotten flakes that still held on.

Running hurriedly out into the hallway, the shaking continued. Everything seemed to be falling in on her. The faces of the dead House Elves smashed into the carpet, dissolving into heaps of dust. The tremors ceased only moments later as Hermione clung to the railing for dear life, trying not to fall. Anxiously, she glanced up the stairs, as the spine-chilling screams of Sirius' mother rang in her ears, blasting like a banshee from down below.

Turning her gaze down the stairs she felt the walls tremble again, until it suddenly went deathly quiet. The silence rang as loudly as Walburga Black's screams. In that one moment, she heard the rustling footsteps of the others as they scrambled on the landing above her.

For a split second she stared at the mass of redheads that loomed at the top of the stairs, a look of fear and nausea on their freckled faces. She looked at Harry and Ron, as they swiftly started making their way down the rickety stairs towards her. Yet the resounding explosion that came from the main door sent everyone to the floor. The intermingled splinters of wood and glass shot in every direction, its path of destruction reeking havoc throughout the hall.

"What was that?!" Mrs. Weasley screeched, as she scrambled toward her hoard of children. However, her question was soon answered as the eerie crunch of the debris echoed around them. Her throat was choked by her fear; tight and constricted to the point she could barely speak. She could make out the deft outline of someone's cloak as it made its way into the hall below. Malfoy's warning flashed in her mind. They had to get away or else this home would become a mass gravesite in minutes.

"We have to go! NOW!" Hermione called to them. All looked dumbstruck apart from the Order members she had informed earlier on that day. They had heeded her warnings and were quick to usher the others up the stairs. To where? She had no clue, but her only aim was to get as far away as possible. She stared wide-eyed as she saw the leading Death Eater turn to them. The sight of them made her cry in horror at their advent. The Day of Judgment had come prematurely for the Order and they had nothing but their own skill to save themselves from the threat at hand.

She quickly threw a curse down at the growing number of Voldemort's followers, hoping to distract them for a moment so that she, Ron and Harry could make a run for it up the long expanse of the stairwell.

"Go! Harry, Ron! RUN!" Hermione yelled as she released her hold on the banister. She knew there was no way she could make it safely away from their attackers. An instant before she sped away, she glanced over her shoulder spotting one of the other Death Eaters making their way toward her, treading steadily on every step as they sneaked up the stairs. She threw a spell at them, hoping to deter them for moment.

Without a second thought she sprinted back into the library, begging that her stalker would not find her as she hid behind one of the shelves near the back of the room. She lent against wooden frame of the bookshelf, panting heavily with bated breath, as her mind raced to figure a way out. There was no way she could apparate out of the home. No one could get in or out without using the front door, Floo or Portkey. All three she had no possible access to. The only way she could make it to the fireplace would only expose her, as she would have to make a mad bolt across the room in the hope that they wouldn't spot her.

Her breath hitched when she heard the rustle of a cloak on the other side of the colossal bookshelf. Taking a chance she peeked through a gap made by a missing book. Nothing was there, devoid of any human form. Leaning back she closed her eyes and rest against her only support once again feeling the ridged spines of the books probe her back. Everything was quiet, until she heard the rustling once again, much closer than it had been the time before.

Her eyes snapped open the moment she felt someone's cool breath against her neck. Again a pair of haunting eyes bore into her own. The pure shock of someone before her was enough to coax a scream from her quivering lips.

The Death Eater's hand instinctively covered her mouth, transforming her cries into a stream of garbling. His rough grip shoved her hard against the wall of books, as he removed his mask with his free hand. It disappeared like a cloud of smoke as she beheld the man in front of her.

"Granger, shut up," He breathed in a cool whisper against her ear. He peered down at her for a brief second, a small snicker passed his lips, "Nice bruise, Mudblood," Her hand shot to her cheek, the concealing charm she had cast must have worn off whilst she slept. She scowled at him spitefully thanking him for his double dose of abuse in one day.

"I could say the same to you, Ferret," His jaw clenched at her retort. But again his mouth lit up in a sneering smile as he gazed down on her, as if he were a parent condemning their child of their erroneous ways.

"And yet the last time I checked, there wasn't one."

"Vanity, your only flaw, I suppose?" She smirked knowing, by saying that, she had caused a huge blow to his ego. She knew that was how it had always been between them, constantly at odds trying to gain the upper hand over the other even in the most trivial of arguments. Yet the taste of guilt strangely stung her lips, masking the sweetness of her quick retort.

She heaved a sigh and tried to get past Malfoy. His hand on her shoulder stopped her. Indignantly, she looked at him.

"Malfoy, you couldn't have cut it any closer. Why didn't you warn me earlier?" She gazed up at him, conscious of his vigilant gaze. He still held her close, but slowly relinquished his hold on her when he saw the irrefutable distress in her eyes.

"Oh, I wanted to see how quick you could defend yourself. Seems you were the only one who failed," Her brow knit in anger, as she violently shoved him back into the shelf behind, they could both sense the electric spark that passed between them. His face flared in astonishment, as he saw the incensed witch begin to raise her wand. Hurriedly, he went to take a step forward to stop her, when unexpectedly the sound of heavy footfall broke the unmistakable tension between the two rivals.

"Draco?" They both knew who it was, and her presence was sure to endanger Hermione's chances of escaping unharmed. She looked worriedly at Malfoy, who placed a gentle finger against his lips. Turning away from her, he formed a human barrier between Hermione and the newcomer.

She stared intently at his back, as though she were trying to see straight through him to face the person beyond. As the girl rounded the corner she saw his shoulders tense slightly, feeling ill at ease even with his protection. She subconsciously shrunk further down, hunching forward so that she couldn't be seen as easily behind Malfoy's tall frame.

"Pansy," He said blandly, as though the very word tasted bitter on his tongue. He stepped forward as another one of Hermione's former tormentors at Hogwarts made her way closer to where she hid.

"Did you find her?" The pug-faced girl queried, as she glanced around hoping to catch a glimpse of the wild Mudblood that they had come to hunt and kill by order of the Dark Lord. Pansy shivered at the thought of returning to Him without the Know-it-all's head embellishing a silver platter. They had failed once; He would not show them any mercy if they did not come back with her once again.

"No, Pansy, I didn't," He hissed, as she began to close in on him.

"Draco, what are we going to do? He'll kill us!" Her face was full of genuine distress. The sight made Hermione stiffen slightly, she could see that so many people feared Voldemort that even his followers were afraid their punishment if they failed a task. In that one instant she almost felt sorry for the two, they had both been sucked into the dark world of Voldemort's regime, living lives that were a far cry from what they had ever imagined they would be.

Pansy's arms snaked about Malfoy's waist possessively as she began to lean into him. Dubiously, he pulled away not wanting to be caught off guard, especially when he had to see that the Hermione got away safely. Then as quickly as his hesitation came on it vanished, replaced by eyes darkened by lust.

Never had Hermione seen a spectacle such as this. Though she would never be willing to admit to it, she had come across various romance novels owned by her previous dorm mates, Lavender and Pavarti. Only then had she read of such occurrences, yet even as she had skimmed them with curiosity she slowly began to feel that she could stomach no more. It had all been complete drivel. The content was far from what she would call a good read. But in the moment she saw between Malfoy and Pansy she knew then that the books held some semblance of truth.

She watched on as Malfoy abruptly kissed Pansy with the force and passion that he showed whenever anyone got under his skin. Hermione would not have said she was envious of Pansy's position— _far from it_, she snorted— but she could hardly deny she was desirous of the fervency of Malfoy taking control. She observed as he pushed Pansy viciously against the bookshelf as he had done to Hermione not long before, however, lacking a certain sensuality that was apparent now.

The scene was so intense that she nearly missed the wave of Malfoy's hand as he gestured for her to go. He had planned to distract Pansy by playing her around, sacrificing himself to her sexual fancies so that Hermione could take the only chance of getting away.

For a brief moment she watched them again, as Malfoy's hand now coiled into Pansy's raven tresses. He started kissing her neck feverishly that stimulated a small moan to pass the girl's lips. She still clung to him, tangling her hands into his blonde locks. However, in a fleeting second Pansy opened her eyes, she swiftly began to notice the outline of someone— namely Hermione kneeling on the floor, witnessing the lovers' tryst.

Malfoy noted as suddenly Pansy froze in his arms. He quickly pulled back in time to see the Pureblood reach for her wand and aim it toward Hermione. Her frightened prey began to stumble backward trying to get up from the floor as Pansy speedily flung a curse at her before Malfoy had any chance of wrestling the weapon from the girl's sweaty grip.

In a matter of seconds Hermione was thrown full force into the wall, temporarily sending her into a lapse of unconsciousness, black spots swamping her blurring vision. She slid down the wall as soon as she felt the impact of the wall, feeling the agony that ensued Pansy's assault.

Her attacker went to scream, but Malfoy rapidly cast a Silence spell over her, whispering urgently to the girl that he clung onto. Hermione could barely make out one word as the pounding surge of blood flushed through her head, each beat feeling like a detonating bomb in her disarrayed mind.

"Listen to me," His vituperative tone only augmented his captives thrashing, "Either you stop and help or I'll _Obliviate_ you without a second thought. Your choice, Pansy," The girl's eyes grew wide with fear, shock silencing her physical protests. After what felt like hours, she anxiously nodded. Malfoy automatically understood he had her support, but unwilling for a few moments to let her go in case she decided to run.

Ending the silencing spell, he cautiously awaited Pansy's reaction before speaking through the taciturnity, "Now hurry up. We need to get away before my father comes."

"Draco," She whispered, her voice doused in her obvious torment.

"Pansy, please. Just do as I say."

Hermione could feel as Malfoy slid his hands none too gently under her body, hurriedly lifting her from her position on the floor into his rigid arms. Pansy never relinquished her grip on him, in fear of being caught by the others, but also the dire consequences if she tried to escape to tell the others. Although, he would not think twice of killing her if it meant it would ultimately be for the greater good.

The last she saw was the tempestuous eyes of Malfoy looming over her weak body, as he hurried toward the fireplace. Even though she hated him with a passion she could not veto the gratitude she felt from Malfoy's protection. He carefully carried her into the darkened hearth, ensuring neither she nor Pansy uttered a single word until they reached safety as he threw the silvery powder into the grate.

Even when she awoke to find what seemed to be over a dozen faces leaning over her body, she still had the image of Malfoy in her head, sucking any sense of time or place from her foggy mind.

Her eyes fluttered open even wider in anticipation as she became more aware of those who were standing above her. As she went to lean forward she felt an agonising pain sear her forehead, causing her to quickly clamp her hand over the throbbing that pounded in her skull.

"What happened? Where are we?"

The crowd dispersed as the face her old Housemistress, tight with anxiety, came into view.

"Miss. Granger we are in the home of Muriel Weasley," The suddenly strong and authoritative voice of Mrs. McGonagall hushed her uneasiness, as she slowly leant forward again resting precariously on the edge of the mountain of cushions behind her.

"You are lucky Mr. Malfoy was there to save you," The older woman's lips pursed in frustration as Hermione tried to get up from the moth-eaten couch, trying her best to scan the mass of faces that now lingered around the skirts of the vast chamber. She looked around the round meeting everyone's eye. Yet, none of them held the pale and haughty features of the youngest Malfoy.

"Where is he?" She queried as she curiously inspected a lone figure that stood gazing out onto the sweeping grounds of the manor house. The figure turned to face Hermione. The glint of a familiar smirk glowed in the scattered motes of moonlight that broke through the windows of the parlor.

"Oh, I'm right here, Granger. Always have been," The curve of his smile like a sharpened scythe ready for slaughter.

**Author's Note: Thank you for everyone that reviewed it was extremely kind of you. I just can't explain how much they all mean to me :o) I hope I replied back to everyone. Keep reviewing though. Oh and once again if you are not a Fanfiction member I believe it's possible that you can write reviews! If you have my questions and more importantly find any mistakes/ continuity/ OOCs just tell me. I love to hear any criticism, that's how I can improve on my writing for the next chapter. By the way a Crup is a magical creature created by J.K. Rowling.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

_"Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future." - Oscar Wilde_**  
**

"What?"

Her breath hitched simultaneously with the clatter of her wand as Malfoy slipped from the shadows. His mouth still held a mordant smirk, his obvious mirth and comfort in the presence of the other Order members made her stomach clench in unease. She felt positively sick. Her enemy, her tormentor, her saviour stood from afar watching on as though a comedic play was rolling out before him. Nothing seemed to indicate that he was anything other than a gleeful little boy who just got a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees.

In confusion, Hermione turned to the solace of the others, her heart beating in anticipation. In vain she waited for a response, but she knew from the blank faces and deadpan expressions of those around her that she would not be granted one.

In desperation she pushed herself further up the pillows gazing expectantly at her previous Housemistress. She shook her head hoping to rid herself of the ebbing queasiness, the feeling likened to the sequela of Polyjuice Potion. Not something she was all too keen to endure once again, considering the erstwhile incidents of her second and seventh year. Becoming Millicent Bullstrode's cat was not her life's ambition, yet neither was finding a sadistic git before her one either.

She pointed an accusing finger at Malfoy standing serenely by the great, wide windows.

"What does he mean?" She waited, her efforts proving fruitless.

She heard the soft tread of Malfoy's boots against the wooden floor as he slowly began to approach the congealed mass of people clinging around Hermione as though she were a martyr awaiting beatification.

"You work it out, Granger. You're bound to have learnt something useful from all those books, save the importance of blood purity, I'm sure."

Hermione knew he was trying to irk her into doing something she would soon regret. However, she had a greater immunity to his insults, however, Ron did not.

Hearing the outrage and shock of the others at the Pureblood's insinuation, Hermione watched on in horror as Ron ran forward, clumsily pulling his wand from his jacket pocket.

Malfoy drew his wand, swiftly and silently, its tip digging unrelentingly in Ron's throat. The blond's mercurial gaze was steady like a snake prepared to strike. It was then that Hermione saw the effect the war had on him. Although, Ron meant well, his actions were far too reckless especially when facing Malfoy. His Slytherin qualities oozed from his pores in torrents: stealth, determination, resourcefulness, and above all an appreciation for self-preservation. Though Hermione despised everything akin to the Malfoys and the Pureblood elitists, she could never deny their often scheming and calculative minds that found flaw in everything made her blood run cold. Their opulent and preened backgrounds were the envy of every home in the Wizarding world. A childhood surrounded by cold indifference and arrogance made them perfect for the new world, where every wizard had to be on their guard without hesitation along with an innate ruthlessness.

Hermione ran forward, trying to prevent any further attack on Malfoy's behalf. She put a hand up to stop him, "Malfoy, this is between you and I. Don't get others involved."

His eyes were still trained on the boy before him, holding his breath. For moment he looked down and met Hermione's agitated stare, eyeing her warily. Again his mirth at riling the redhead seemed to deflate when he saw her doleful eyes, those that still tortured him endlessly. Nevertheless, his pride commanded him to hold steadfast. He would not back down unless the Weasley did first.

"That is quite enough, Mr Malfoy. Mr Weasley," McGonagall's stern voice injected a sense of reason in the mass of anger and spite that seemed to swell between the two wizards. Hermione's heart seized in fear as she awaited the boys' reactions.

Ron pulled away, his fury depressed from his chest in one mighty huff, his icy glare melted into the warm loving eyes she had become used to over the years, finding hers in the aftermath.

"I think we had better sit down and talk about this before anything else is said," suggested Mr Weasley as he dragged Ron farther away than was necessary from Malfoy, who still stood reticently by Hermione.

"Indeed, Arthur. Come, Miss Granger, I believe an explanation is in order."

As she paced down the darkened corridor she couldn't help but feel Malfoy's presence behind her. The feeling brought back memories of her dream. Shocked she turned around quickly, nearly running into Malfoy, who was oblivious to the effect that that single gesture had on Hermione.

They stood a hair's breadth away, so close that she could see the cool metallic specks of blue that perused his normally cold and ominous eyes. Her brows crinkled in disbelief. The feeling was uncommonly familiar, a distant memory tickling and teasing her brain to solve the strange riddle before her. She looked into his eyes, but then abash, she looked down, watching as his chest heaved from the sudden exertion of coming to a halt. The angular features of his visage looked to have been chiselled from stone that was as cold as his heart.

He cocked an eyebrow as he waited for an explanation, but she expected he wanted her to do more than that. If he had his own way she would probably have to get down on her knees and beg for forgiveness, only to be kicked away like a hopeless and obedient house-elf.

"Are you having some bloody epiphany, Granger?" She was beckoned away from her reverie by the harsh words that spouted from his tight-lipped smirk. Hermione looked back down the hall.

"No, you complete toad. I was wondering where Pansy was."

"Well, she's not here, is she?"

"Malfoy, it was simple question that only needed a _simple_ answer, unless that's too difficult for you," She snapped.

"I'm certain you've heard of an Unbreakable Vow, Granger._ That_ is my answer," He tried to make his way past her, but Hermione quickly stood in front of him, wanting him to clarify his answer.

"That's dangerous, Malfoy. You could die," She was practically wracked with nerves now. _How could he be so ignorant?_

"Yes I know the consequences of it, but allow me to let you in on a little secret…I wasn't the one who had to accept the vow, Granger. It was Pansy."

"What did she have to promise—" Suddenly, she was interrupted when Ron appeared and grabbed Hermione's arm, gently pulling her away. Hermione nearly scowled at the redhead, but he was too focused on making his way towards the mass of people, moving little by little into a room that annexed the hall. She had been so close to finding out some information, but had been snatched away in the infancy of their conversation.

As soon as all were seated in the surprisingly spacious kitchen, all eyes were directed at McGonagall. Her previous professor watched her audience warily, especially now as Malfoy was amongst their ranks. Her beady eyes honed in on Hermione who sat agitatedly beside Ron, who had gripped her hand beneath the table. Although it was meant to be sign of reassurance and support, it became a clammy and suffocating vice against her struggle to see reason within the myriad of discord and confusion. Malfoy had sat in the empty seat opposite her, between Podmore and Doge. Both men grumbled as he placed himself between them, acutely aware of the trouble he would cause.

She felt someone's leg graze hers beneath the cover of the table. It was not flushed with chaste affection but more of despotism, but it had been enough as she pulled both her feet beneath her seat, set firm and far from his officious touch.

A small cough emitted from Professor McGonagall's mouth, gaining the attention of not only Hermione, but all that had been lost in their thoughts in those briefest of moments.

"Miss Granger the reason that Mr Malfoy so aptly describes himself as having _always_ been around is that he is, in fact, an agent for the Order."

Hermione's brain felt as though it were about to explode from the little information she had just been given. She felt wrought with emotion, but one that seemed to soar above the others was anger. That type of anger that ate away at her, chipping at her patience. Like a hawk her eyes flew to Malfoy who sat placidly across from her, his eyes calculating and authoritative.

"You lied to me, you bastard!" Hermione produced her wand from her pocket, ruthlessly jabbing it in Malfoy's direction. She had never sworn so much in her life; it seemed to be second nature when she was around him. Instinctively, he drew a small, dark wand that yielded sporadic fiery sparks, which swept towards Hermione's wrathful form.

"It wasn't my place to say," His response subtly oozed with his mounting frustration, his eyes had turn to darkened slits, serpentine in their nature, yet filled with far more venom than his Dark Lord.

"You could have saved my parents! Are— are you still harbouring some personal vendetta against me, Malfoy? Is it because I'm a _Mudblood_?" She practically screamed the last word. She saw no one but Malfoy. She felt nothing but unadulterated hatred. Her magic could sense her volatile emotions that coursed though her shaking body. She realised that both she and Malfoy had stood in rage towards one another as the others tensely looked on. They leant over the table, the only barrier that prevented from either one of them stretching out and strangling their counterpart to death.

"How could you expect me to? I was risking a lot to try and save you! My aunt could have walked in any moment and killed you as well as me."

"Always quick to think of others, Malfoy! How _noble_ of you, " She spat snidely, as he lent back, looking as though he had been struck its blow. His eyes went as cold and as penetrating as ice.

"Is this your opinion of me? You think that you can spite me for all that I have done for you—"

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy!" Ron had heard enough and rose to stand beside Hermione who nearly cried with relief, as Ron's sudden surge of pluck was enough to keep her fighting against the Ferret. However, with Ron's courage it had seemingly been synonymous with temerity. For the second time that evening he trained his wand on the young Pureblood before him, ready to blast him across the room, but was instead hit by Malfoy's attack just a moment before a biting hex could pass his lips.

Hermione had been prepared to drag Ron away by force before he could do anything, and so her hand gripped the redhead's forearm with an iron fist. As he was hit by the spell, both she and Ron were flung into the kitchen wall with such a force that various pots and pans that rested on shelves around then fell to the ground in one massive clatter, echoing about the room in the wake of the assault. The room fell into a dire silence.

All were in a state of shock. No one could scarcely breathe, let alone move around in the tension that subsumed the room. No one but Malfoy. He stepped around the table at a slow pace, allowing the crunch of glass underfoot to clearly resonate around him. Hermione watched him through a haze, blackness seeming to ebb on the edge of her vision. He hunched down beside her, the pathetic excuse for a threat fell innocuously from her trembling lips. He knelt before her, reaching out to grip her chin firmly. She tried to push herself away, but only came into contact with the wall once more.

Again, Malfoy leant further forward, whispering to her, as close and intimate as a lover, but as dark and sinister as a murderer.

"See, Granger. This is where you belong— at my feet." Standing again, he nudged his foot on a couple shards of glass that lay strewn in front of her.

Raising her head defiantly, she peered up, keeping contact with him until her only retort formed in her mouth.

"You make me sick spewing all that Pureblood rubbish."

"Though you may feel that, it has kept me from having to hide away like a coward."

The last word sounded like an alarm, sending the others that had been frozen in a state of confusion and disbelief, into one of panic. All eyes turned to Ron who began to lunge toward Malfoy before Bill gripped his collar tightly, and Mr Weasley placed a calming hand upon his son's chest, which heaved with aggravation.

"I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, next time you won't be so lucky."

"Yes, well, neither will you, Weasel."

"That is enough! All of you leave this instant. A word, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy. Mr Malfoy…Mr Malfoy!"

The witch called after the young Pureblood as he traipsed out the kitchen heading away from the barrage of glares that questioned his motives. It was not impossible to disguise infidelity as loyalty. Though Legilimency was a tougher method to testify under, Veritaserum was hardly infallible. Anyone with enough grit and determination, and had enough skills in Occlumency would fly through without any difficulties.

Hermione's hands stung as she clenched them in anger, the blood dribbling ceaselessly from the gash that sliced her palms. Pushing herself up from the ground, she went to pursue Malfoy as he stepped out into the darkened corridor. She had barely taken two steps when she felt Harry grip her shoulder tightly, and shook his head in disapproval at her plan.

"Let Malfoy be for a moment, Hermione," he advised lightly. It wasn't that he pitied him, but he wished to save his closest friend from anymore pain and anguish.

Worriedly, Mrs Weasley scurried about the kitchen, "I'll make a pot of tea." To that everyone nodded and set themselves on their seats once more contemplating the problems ahead of them, as McGonagall cleaned up the mess, and Hestia Jones attempted to cast the perfect healing spell on Ron and Hermione.

The biscuits tasted stale, the tea bitter, and nothing seemed to be getting better. Everyone was shouting, debating on what to do with the situation at hand. _When was Voldemort going to attack next? Had the other members been alerted about the raid on Grimmauld Place? Were they safe?_

All their voices seemed to ring in Hermione's ears, echoing endlessly as she quietly placed her cup back on the table, and attempted to escape from the room unnoticed. The atmosphere was suffocating and the conversation was repetitive. She could only handle so much in one evening, let alone what she had to endure in the past few days.

She went to leave, when Ron suddenly came up behind her, intending to follow her outside. A smile graced her lips, encouragement enough for him to encompass his hand about hers once more. But she could see the tiredness that tinged his normally lively eyes. He was worried.

Not expecting to find anything remarkably beautiful, the two had tread towards the parlour and found a door that lead to the gardens where they were surprised by its moonlit glory. They stood together on the veranda that lined the house. The large windows loomed over both of them, their gloomy eyes following her as she broke away from Ron's emanating warmth. She began to pace in unease.

Listlessly, she leant on one of the pillars that fringed the dew-laden grass, sucking in the cool air that seemed to surround them. Its chill was plenty to soothe her nerves— a small dose of clarity injecting into her jumbled thoughts.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" She felt so calm, turning her head to face Ron, who stood behind her.

"I— we want you to have this," He held something in his hand far too small to see at first as it was consumed by a lengthy chain. Slowly, extracting it from his palm, she held it up to the light that splayed over them. The little pendant glimmered in the moonlight; the somewhat diaphanous glass seemed to alter between a mirror and another ephemeral image that she could not place.

"Thank you—"

"Harry and I made it from the two-way mirror Sirius gave to him," He nodded to the necklace that she held. Now she remembered. Aberforth had not felt the other half was safe in his possession and so had sent it to Harry a few weeks back after another attack had been made on the Hog's Head. It was too risky, especially as their incursions had escalated over the previous months. The three of them had planned to make a triad of mirrors that each would carry in case they were separated, but it was nigh on impossible to be sure that they would all work after splitting it up any further.

"We tested it all today while you were meeting _him_. Harry seems to think it will work alright," He twiddled his thumbs nervously awaiting her response. She looked up, tentatively, and tried to ease his apprehension as she clasped the chain about her neck. Hermione strode forward and clasped her arms about his waist, longing for him to hold her close. She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet, barely reaching to place a small peck on his cheek. The rosiness soon turned to rubescent glow, but seeing it quickly sent a pang of guilt through her body. The image of the blood dripping down his pallid face would forever haunt her.

"I love it, Ron," She then pulled away, watching him carefully for a few moments before she spoke again.

"Do you mind at all if I just stay here by myself a little while longer? I just need some time to think."

Trying to hide his slightly pained expression, he nodded and made his way back into to meet up with the others once again. Her frown deepened at his absence.

The moonlight shone in the corner of her eye like a beacon of hope. Yet it was far cry from any sign of salvation. The moon always reminded her of Professor Lupin. His death was one of many, a blow to the Order's magical prowess, the source of agony and heartache for all who knew him. Her eyes strayed to the darkened landscape before her, she could just make out the outline of a forest that clung to the outskirts of the manor, its foreboding presence sent chills up Hermione's spine.

"I thought it would take more to frighten a _courageous_ Gryffindor."

She had been so at ease, but it had all crumbled down when she heard his voice. Hermione span around and spotted a darkly clad form leaning serenely against the frame of a nearby curtained window. She could see something glint dangerously against the skin of hand, taunting and teasing.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"A little while. Though I was unfortunate enough to stumble upon your— how shall say _amorous meeting _with Weaselbee," He crept closer, his eyes never leaving her face, hoping to get a rise out of her.

"Come on Granger, I know how much you want to yell at me right now."

She took a deep breath, trying to quell her excessive anger.

"Malfoy, some wars are not worth starting."

"Oh, so good and moral, Granger. You're a pathetic excuse for a witch, not willing to fight! You know why that stupid twit of a Weasley died? Why your precious Order is in ruins? People like _you_ did that! Too prudent for your own good!"

"How dare you say that!" Her screech seemed to reverberate throughout the grounds, like the strange, sonorous howls of the Forbidden Forest. Her wand was suddenly digging viciously into his throat, eliciting a hiss of pain from his lips. He looked down on her even then, when he was literally dancing with death. Still he had the audacity to sneer at her. A voice whispered in her head, black and sinewy, clawing further into her consciousness.

_You know the spell_, it whispered, _He deserves it._

Her brow suddenly knit in confusion. Trying to throughly silence the voice, she jammed the tip harder into his neck, closely scrutinising the man before her.

_You've got to mean it,_ It bore the command of a ruler, imperious and esoteric.

Petrified, Hermione had no idea where the voice was coming from. She knew it wasn't her; there could be no way. It was something else. Something was telling her to attack Malfoy.

_Do it._

She peered up at his face. What she saw shocked her to no end. Malfoy's eyes briefly flickered underneath their lids, until his eyes ripped open without warning,. She looked on in shock and horror as his eyes were subsumed by a darkness. A sly smirk slid onto his lips. His mien of mischief was overwhelmed by something far darker now. She realised, too late, what he had been doing. Even still the voice didn't stop.

_DO IT!_

"STOP IT!" She gripped her head, her hands covering her eyes. Then it stopped. Like a blazing flame it had been doused.

Her tear-stained hands slipped from her face, incapable of speech. Now nothing seemed to hold her attention but the cruel, triumphant smile that the Pureblood tried to suppress.

"Granger, you failed again," His voice was dark and ominous like a cloud that obscured any small amount of faith she ever did have in him. Her eyes widened, unnerved by his little remark. In anger, she went to slap him hard across the cheek.

"Oh, Granger, you don't want me to do that to you again, do you? Voices can drive a person mad, you know."

The numb feeling seemed to seep into every fibre of her being. She went to run, to escape from his watchful gaze that awaited her reaction, but he seized hold of her arm, looking her straight in the eye. She realised she was unarmed when she spotted her wand in his hand.

"LET GO OF ME!" Her shriek seemed to make no difference in her struggle against him. Wanting to escape, she went to wrench her wand from his grasp, but he pulled it further away, practically putting himself between Hermione and her only means of protection. Diligently, she tried to retrieve it, regardless of the fact that with every empty snatch she brought herself closer and closer to the man she was trying to flee from.

"Never let your guard down. _He_ will try anything to undermine his opponent. To distract them," Malfoy spoke to her calmly and assertively, as though speaking to a pupil of his. She went to pull away, but he gripped her arm tighter.

"Do you understand me?"

Hermione just looked at him, and shook her head in disbelief, "Why are you telling me this?"

He made no effort to answer her. Yet he still watched her closely, waiting. What for? Hermione hadn't the slightest idea.

But her thirst for knowledge would be offered a reprieve if she asked the right question.

"Where did you learn to…" She could barely finish it. She could not imagine what a place he had been brought up in, living in, attempting to survive in every waking hour. He was certainly a changed man, but a damaged one, too.

He looked down at her, mirth fringing his eyes.

"Where did I learn to possess people?"

She desperately tried to pull away, but he was unwilling to let go of what little power he had over her in that moment.

"Yes, Granger, _possess_. When you move in certain circles, you learn things."

He leant further toward her like hounding Manticore, ready to pounce.

"Would you like me to teach you?" The derision flowed thick and profusely; she knew he was toying with her, but it did nothing to overcome her fear. Malfoy slid her wand into her dangling hand.

"Pleasant dreams, Granger."

She stood and gaped at him as he made his way back into the house. It had been a test. For him she had promise, yet her virtue and fortitude undid her. For her it had been a shock. It was one thing to attack or threaten a person through fault, but she had nearly attacked someone who was unarmed, and whom she knew was attempting to antagonise her. The thought made her sick— sick of the world she was living, the people around her. Everything. She wanted this reign of terror to end, but she knew what Malfoy had done was to show her that peace would not save them. Only a ruthlessness that matched that of the Death Eaters could give them the chance to win the war.

She looked down at her wand in distrust. Quickly pocketing it, she ran back to find Ron and Harry, the necklace beating against her chest. The trees billowed in the distance; the wind's howls whistling through the darkened forest. The shadows seemed to have a life of their own. A sound whooshed above the home like the silent flutter of wings in the night sky.

**Author's Note: Thank you to all the amazing reviews, you are all so lovely and I always love to hear what you have to say. Thank you for reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

_"All cruelty springs from weakness." - Seneca_**  
**

"Harry?"

"Yeh?" His voice rung in the emptiness, the slow ticking of the grandfather clock had been the only sound that buzzed between the room's silent occupants. She had gazed up from the novel she held before her. She had barely even started reading when her mind had been taken away by the winds of time.

"What are we doing here?" Harry briefly glanced up at his friend, who had her chin resting on the back of the sofa, waiting for an answer.

"Well, I'm playing Wizard's Chess. You're reading, as usual. Why?" His voice was filled with innocence, but through the years she had managed to decipher the difference between that and suspicion. He was hiding something from her. And _that_ was not normal in a friendship as tight-knit as theirs.

She looked down at the yellowed pages in her lap, fiddling with its crisp edges. She was trying to word it as well as she could. Fighting was a sensitive issue, especially for Harry. The least she wanted was for an argument to ensue.

"No. I— I mean what is the Order planning to do?"

He looked up from the rook he held hesitantly over an empty space on the board before him. His glasses glinted mischievously in the lamplight. It flickered slightly as a gust of wind blew through the cracks in window. A storm was brewing not very far off from the house.

"Nothing," His lips pursed in a line, his brow creased in concentration. He was lying to her— she knew it.

"Haven't they told you _anything_, Harry?" Her question nearly came out as a plea. She could hardly believe the Order was simply lazing about at the expense of Muriel Weasley, eating her out of house and home.

"No," He placed the chess piece down, which mechanically crashed violently into one of the opposing pawns. Check mate.

Harry quietly stood and left the room in silence, not even so much as glancing at Hermione, whose face fell in dismay. Patiently, she watched as he closed the door behind him, astonished by his hasty exit. She had hit a nerve. But when she was in the dark about something it was her objective to find out what it was. Let it be known that Hermione Granger never let an opportunity to learn something slip out of her grasp.

She quickly stood, and ripped open the door, preparing to follow her fleeing friend. He had truly seemed out of sorts since Malfoy's reveal as an Order memeber. He had kept things from her and Ron, as private and secluded meetings between him and Shacklebolt or McGonagall took place even more regularly. Though, she knew he tried to hide it— to suppress his anger, his shock— nothing slipped from her watchful gaze. She had known whenever Malfoy had been around in the recent weeks. Harry would often come back from those meetings, with his skin stretched taut against cheeks, his whole body tensed, his scar itching. Whatever Malfoy was saying, it was undoubtedly causing much distress for Harry.

Hermione had only spotted the Pureblood once as she made her way from the library one dreary afternoon, her arms laden with various books to whisk her away to a world far different from the one she was already in. Dreams were not enough anymore, riddled with terror and death. Her sole escape was her mind where she could breathe freely, engulfed in the realm of wisdom and knowledge without the pain of her sorrows.

Thus, with her head full of Herbology, contemplating the new possibility that anemone could eat a human whole if they so much as tickled their nose, she had nearly crashed straight into Malfoy unawares. As they met face to face, she suddenly seized up, eyes as wide as saucers. Only a few feet separated them. As they eyed one another, waiting for a fiery quip, one of the more leaden tomes had slipped from her grasp, clattering heavily onto the stone floor. She did nothing. Nor did he. Their gaze had not faltered.

Suddenly, they could hear the ruffle of robes moving down the hall towards them. McGonagall called to the young wizard, telling him that he was already late. He looked his old professor straight in the eye, and turned away, making no comment. The older woman followed, leaving Hermione to persist in her struggle to pay the price for knowledge. She never did manage to pick up that damn book.

However, that was the last she saw of him while the Order resided at Muriel Weasley's home.

The unpleasant memory faded as she scurried down the hall, secretly following Harry as he stormed past the dreary backdrop of soiled curtains and moth-eaten rugs. Every so often she thought he'd spotted her shadowing each and every step he took. Warily, she pressed on even when the rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat pounded dangerously in her chest. The painstaking exertion of chasing after him with complete discretion was a feat in itself.

Until she got lost.

He was nowhere to be seen. Hermione thought she had spotted him making his way towards the ancient greenhouse that was filled to the brim with the most exotic species of plants. Though, she hardly believed Harry would go there out of pleasure unless he was planning death by Venomous Tentacula.

All was silent. She took a deep breath as she looked up and down the hallway. There wasn't a single soul that roamed those dank halls. Feeling the bitterness of defeat, she went to make her way back to where she had started. However, as Hermione began the long trek back, she was met by the angry snarls of someone from the door in front of her. Their shouts became louder, although, they were often interrupted by another calming voice from beyond. Quizzically, she stared at the door, now noticing that it was partially ajar. It creaked open as a cool breeze whipped through from the other side.

Peaking through the crack, she saw that no one was to be found in the room, but the furious cries continued unceasingly from somewhere within. Timidly, she looked at the room about her, keeping her hand on the doorknob in case she chanced upon something unsavoury. Yet, her curiosity was muzzled by heedful logic when she realised that it was yet another room she had never seen before.

The cool shade of the blues and greys that swept over the interior of the room gave it an eerie feel, like most of the house. The walls were shadowed by dark tapestries: some of the Prewett and Weasley families; some that told of Wizarding history in the neighbouring village. Hermione's mouth opened in awe as her eyes trailed up the walls that stretched on high, nearly as tall as the library at Hogwarts. There were children running gleefully through the tightly knit arras that hung from ceiling to floor, as the Goblin rebellion of Tinworth raged in the background. Oddly, as she began her perusal of the dimly lit room, she spotted a tall armoire resting against the far wall. One of the doors had been partially left open.

She turned and inspected the rest of the room. There were no windows, or else the drapery concealed them, and an empty desk sat amidst the ancient finery of the study, void of anything except a purse. Her purse.

_She nearly squealed with insurmountable joy. She thought she had lost during the attack on Grimmauld Place. Her hand went and snatched it from where it was sitting, the beaded tassels rustled and splayed against her pale skin. The purple velvet never was conspicuous, but its foreign beauty shone through nonetheless._

Then there was an angry shout that broke from somewhere in the room. Once again the argument was intermittent with the composed reason of another. Yet, it seemed that neither were willing to concede defeat.

Her hand unconsciously reached out to pull the tapestry out before her, gazing behind it, trying to find the source of the noise. She was only met with an unsavory glimpse of moldy wallpaper. She started making her way round the room, coming to a dead-end with each possible conclusion until she came to the last tapestry that bore the image of an extremely beautiful water nymph. She hoped there was something there or else George must have slipped a Mysterious Midnight Moon Madness mint in her Pumpkin juice that morning. There was no other way to explain the voices.

But thank Merlin! She could clearly hear the conversation now. And it was none other than Harry and Shacklebolt. Something was amiss if they were arguing, a fact, which made Hermione's hands somewhat clammy in unease.

"She can't do it! It won't be safe, for God's sake!" His concern emphasised by the obvious screech in his voice.

"Harry, she will be safe. He'll be there. He'll protect her if the need arises," The older wizard tried to reason.

"No! I don't trust him. He'll get her killed! I couldn't let myself live if anything happened to her," His voice practically broke from the impending sob that raked his throat.

_Who were they going to send? They wouldn't send Ginny, would they?_

Hermione shook with fear. Ginny was too young, Harry would rather sacrifice himself than her. It was obvious. But who would they be sending that was causing him so much pain. Like a sudden shower of rain, her awareness dawned on her. The pace of her breathing swelled with her growing dread.

She had been ready to draw the curtain aside and make her presence known, but her resolve had been broken by the slight _tsking _noise from the tapestry.

It was the nymph again.

It hissed at Hermione's undesirably firm hold over her seamed domain. The creature glanced at her for a moment longer after Hermione had relinquished her grip to the sea creature. It sneered and returned to its plan of enticing one of the young men that had ambled into her territory. His dark locks reflected in the water. His lips parted in fascination as the nymph reached out to touch him. She had found her prey.

Hermione gently brushed her finger tips against his mouth, feeling the coarse material beneath rather than the rosy flesh of the young man it was meant to be. He didn't respond to her touch, too enthralled by the beauteous myth that waited before him. But that transient peace was shattered when she heard the gentle creak of the door. She was instantly aware of someone else's presence.

"Longing for the touch of man?"

Her hand clenched into a fist over the man's face. Harry still continued with his wrathful tirade trying to convince his superior beyond the tapestry. Her fear and anger would not allow her to turn and meet the intruder's gaze. She hoped— no prayed he would simply leave her be, give up before he could cause her any more dismay.

"Not going to speak to me?" Again she opted for silence._  
_

She leant against the heavy fabric, hoping he'd give up trying to pester her. Without a second thought his hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, trying to get her to look at him. He was unrelenting in his need for her look at him. But she angrily shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

"Are you _afraid_ of me?" She could hear the amusement in his voice.

This was all game to him. His lips were practically a breath away from hers in an attempt to frighten her senseless. She hated the way he came too close to her, using it against her. Helplessly, she squirmed against his body, trying to get by, nevertheless he held fast in his harassment.

"Look at me, Hermione Granger."

Her eyes finally focused on him. He had never used her first name before, let alone address her so formally. If he wanted to mock her he simply would have called her a bushy-haired swot. She pulled back as far as she could, trying look him in the eye. That was when she realised something was wrong.

His hands lashed out, grabbing a hold of her head, her curls slithered about his fingers in a frenzy, as the sharp sting of her magic began to course through her. She wanted to scream for the others to help, but her voice was caught in her constricting throat. If all else failed she would prepare to fight without her wand. She had done it before; she could do it again.

"I'll kill the lot of you. One by one. You were a fool to trust me, Hermione Granger," He shook her hard, his fingers maliciously digging into her skin. But even with the intense pain, his use of her full name did not go amiss. Each word had been spoken with perfect diction.

"You were all fools to trust me—"

Without warning, the scene was broken by the sound of the study door opening again. As much as she struggled and fought against the prison of his body, Hermione stood no chance of gaining the newcomer's attention. It was likely that they would mistake them for a lovers longing for privacy.

His hand clamped over her mouth in a hope to hinder her attempts at escape. But in a final effort to get away she bit ruthlessly into his hand. So hard, in fact, she thought she drew blood, his palm becoming uncommonly sanguine in colour. Grimacing he drew away, giving Hermione a chance to get the person's attention.

Yet, when she clawed past her aggressor, she was met with the bewildered face of Draco Malfoy. Her eyes widened in shock.

Slowly, she peered at the thing before her. It was still looking at her with its large grey eyes until it turned towards the other Malfoy who stood frozen by the door. His hand crept towards his pocket, as was the one in front of Hermione, like mirror images. Immediately, her tormentor morphed into something else entirely. His cool orbs soon turned into the darkest shade of red through the slits she could hardly call eyes. His nose dissolved into nothing, flat and serpentine. His already pallid hands turned the shade of snow, unnaturally long, like a spider's legs, which swiftly drew his wand from his hooded cloak.

Having no lips, his teeth soon took on the shape of jagged needles protruding from his sallow gums.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"RIDDIKULUS!" Malfoy shouted, as the monster swiftly took the form of a giant green balloon animal, disappearing from sight as the door of the previously opened armoire clicked shut.

It had been a boggart.

Draco Malfoy's betrayal was what she feared the most. But what shocked her most was that Malfoy was collapsing to his knees in fright, his hand barely managing to cover his mouth before a sob escaped his trembling lips. He could do nothing to disguise from Hermione the tremor that passed along his shoulders. His eyes were still focused on the spot where the boggart had manifested itself into the Dark Lord, who had raised his wand, ready to kill.

"Malfoy," She whispered, his name hardly resonating in the silence-engulfed room. She had never seen him like this. Never. The contrast between this and his normally arrogant and spiteful self was absolutely petrifying. She would rather face a legion of rabid Thestrals than see anything other than a smirk play on her tormentor's lips. It was completely unnerving.

Slowly, she approached him, her hand coming to rest on one of his tensed shoulders, taking no notice when his shaking suddenly ceased under her touch. But the glare she was granted with as his eyes emerged from behind his trembling fingers was plenty for her to assume he was not thrilled with her comforting gesture. It was like the calm before the storm— that was until the storm struck with a vengeance.

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME, YOU BLOODY FILTH!"

She stepped back, nearly bumping into something— or rather someone that stood behind her. A hand tightly gripped her arm, pulling her further away from a furious Malfoy. She turned to meet an equally angered Harry. His eyes turning to slits, a transient glow of red subsumed his irises, his nostrils flared in irate perfection. Releasing Hermione in flaring anger, Harry strode forward and pointed an accusing finger at Malfoy, who tried to hold himself together with the last bit of dignity he could muster. A coolness fell over his peaked features— icy and deadly.

"She'll be dead if she takes one step away from our protection! And it'll be your fault!"

She looked at Harry, then Shacklebolt, but then came to rest on Malfoy, whose mouth was tight and thin, his jaw clenched in fury, his eyes rimmed with the tears shed from before. The effrontery of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-His-Life-Hell made him unable to fashion any coherent speech.

"I— I swore my loyalty to the Order. A Malfoy does not take back their word, Potter."

"Then you are lying through your teeth!" Harry's shouts reverberated about the room, shocking the nymph so much, she decided to leave her prey for another day, descending into the murky waters below. Yet Hermione's gaze was soon dragged away by the full and unfettered force of Malfoy's resounding voice.

"I'll make a vow. I will make an Unbreakable Vow," Malfoy schooled his features into a dark carapace, awaiting the half-blood's next move. He looked Harry dead in the eye, not breaking contact even when Shacklebolt took a step toward the blond wizard, trying to reason with him. Nothing would deter him from his plan— he either made the vow and finally proved his allegiance, or was considered the source of all the Order's misfortunes for the rest of the war. If ever he had the chance to survive.

"I will make this vow, even if it kills me. I will not make this offer again, Potter."

Hermione stared at him and then Harry, her fears set in stone. It was her that Harry and Shacklebolt had been speaking of. Not Ginny. It had never been Ginny. It was her, and only her that could ever have been considered intelligent enough to face the greatest task at hand, and the greatest git, simultaneously. Now everything fell into place— Malfoy's apparent tests, Harry's aversion to any conversation involving Voldemort, Arthur Weasley's knowing glances. All she had to do was confront the situation unlike the others. She needed to know once and for all.

"I'm going on that mission, aren't I?"

"We will explain later— What?" Harry swivelled around in shock, hardly able to shut his gaping mouth.

"I have a right to know, Harry," She had to be sure. She had to be ready.

"How did you discover this?" Shacklebolt interjected.

"They don't call you the brightest witch of our age for nothing, do they, Granger," Malfoy intoned, watching her in false admiration. Yet when he saw her step back briefly at his tongue-in-cheek remark the bow of his lips became elongated and innocently cruel. The thought of being bound to him then terrified her. She would be at his mercy when in his protection, insulting her with every passing moment.

"You're afraid, aren't you," Draco's inquiry cut her to the core.

"Give me your arm, Malfoy," She turned on him, her eyes dark and malign. She looked him in the eye; taking a step forward, ready to snatch his arm if he morphed into the coward from their years at Hogwarts.

"Hermione you don't have to do this just to prove something to anyone," Harry was trying to get Hermione to recognise the decision she was making. She would never be able to unbind herself until the magic of the vow saw fit to do so itself or if Malfoy broke his promise. Nevertheless, she knew he valued his life more than that. He was a Slytherin after all.

"Unless _you're_ afraid, Malfoy," She met his scorn with her own, hoping to show her willingness to fight. She would never be treated like an inferior in his presence ever again. He was going to get a taste of the bitterness of his own medicine.

Indignantly, Malfoy held his arm before her, pushing up his sleeve so that it clung about his forearm. The tendons in his arm stood out, his veins weaving about his arm in an intrinsic fashion that accentuated the sickly colour of his skin. But she was keenly aware that he hand not chosen his left arm —the one that bore the Dark Lord's haunting mark.

His fingers wrapped tightly around her arm, clawing into her skin like talons. She assumed that the agony of their predicament had only begun as she gazed into his baleful eyes. She unwillingly clung to his arm, digging her nails into his flesh, hoping to cause him some measure of pain for what he had done to her. What he will do to her. He simply watched her unfalteringly as Shacklebolt's wand came to rest over their rigid embrace.

"Will you, Draco Malfoy, watch over Hermione Granger whilst she is sent on the mission assigned to her?" The question hung in the stagnant air, waiting to be answered.

Hermione peered at the man before her, his eyes as intense as a storm, raging within him and fit to burst. As though oddly reassured by her watchful stare, did he finally decide to make the covenant that would inextricably bind them.

"I will," He barely managed to force the words out before a thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their clasping arms like a red-hot wire. Hermione's eyes opened in utter fascination. She had read so much about an Unbreakable Vow, but had never had the chance to witness one in the flesh. Now she was apart of one.

_"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect her from harm?"_

"I will," His mournful eyes came to rest on her. His hand briefly clenched a tad tighter than before, eliciting a slight hiss from Hermione's lips.

Suddenly, a flurry of flames engulfed the two that glowed and pulsed as the magic coursed through them. Hermione tried to pull away alarmed by the inferno that thundered about them, but Draco remained steadfast, knowing all too well that nothing would happen to them. She didn't know whether it was Draco's grip that held her tight, or the vow, but as soon as the fire cooled and became only a memory, did he pull her arm from his grasp, leaving her hand behind in midair.

Hermione eagerly inspected her hand, tugging the sleeve of her jumper up to the crook of her arm, wanting to glimpse the workings of the vow. Her eyes traced a faint scar that coursed over and all around, until it vanished beneath the cloth, hidden away like an unbidden secret.

"It will disappear by tomorrow," It was Malfoy who spoke first. His hand hung at his side, his knuckles tight and taut against his already pallid skin. He hadn't even bothered to look. He had practically warranted his demise to gain not only the Order's trust, but hers also. She only hoped that his trust would not allay as quickly as the Vow's stigmatic gift.

"I know," She whispered.

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone reviewing and such, but please keep reviewing for me! It would be much appreciated; feedback is like milk and cookies. Thanks. Anyway, there's a link to my blog for this fanfiction on my profile. Go check it out. There are little snippets for upcoming chapters, and images, etc. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

_"The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water and breeds reptiles of the mind." - William Blake_**  
**

That day she wanted nothing more than to avoid everyone, in particular a certain young wizard. As she gazed at the fading scars of the Vow, her mind was a torrent of unsolved questions and unanswerable conclusions. His eyes— Malfoy's eyes haunted her now. How they had beheld her as he made his vows was nothing short of incurable sadness as he condemned his life to a limbo between life and death. His outcome would rest in the palm of the fates. She was the rope that would either pull him to safety or strangle him until he took his last breath.

Hermione did not wish to be the cause of anyone's death, but he had taken that risk to appease them all. He was determined. He wished to see the fall of Voldemort's regime as much as the Order, but his loyalties were to be tested at every twist and turn. One wrong step and he was dead, whether it be at the hands of the Dark or the Light. With that thought coursing through her already tired mind, she ripped the sleeve of her jumper down, wanting to never think of it ever again— or at least for the moment.

Hermione looked up from her covered arm. She was sitting on her bed amongst the wonted decay with which she was used to inhabiting. It was almost as though she had never left 12 Grimmauld Place. The curtains were moth-eaten and had faded to a non-descript grey colour. The dying embers of the setting sun burned through the numerous windowpanes, lighting upon the beaded velvet of her purse resting in her hands. Her salvation was in there. She wanted nothing more than for her books to suck her away into another world, consume her, not releasing her until it had rid her of the worries and confusion that dug their way into her innermost thoughts.

Everything was there: _Secrets of the Darkest Art_; _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_;_ Hogwarts, A History. _Yet when she came across her stolen copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ something felt wrong. Something or someone had been through the bag since she last laid her hands on it. Carefully picking the tome up from the pile before her, she inspected its cover, gazing at its leathery skin, the cluster of words faintly licking the spine. Nothing had changed, but it still felt wrong. With books as old as the one that rested in her lap, it was commonplace for the reader to feel the magic that coursed its pages, feel it thrumming, almost as though the book itself was a human being with its own heart and soul. However, as she rested her hand on the cover she knew someone had touched it, had performed powerful magic on and around it. It had an ominous feel to it.

Carefully, she prised the book open, turning to random discoloured page, its crisp edges running across the tips of her fingers. Unsuccessful, Hermione closed it, hearing the dull thud as it lie shut upon her lap. However, the unease she felt could not be broken. She would have to inspect it further later on. Heaving it from her lap onto her beside table with the little strength she still possessed, she suddenly heard a rustle as something fell from within the contents of its pages. There before her, lying on the ground, was a piece of paper— an envelope.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. It was not a habit of hers to leave stray parchment in books, let alone an envelope. _This must have been what I could feel._ Cautiously, she whispered an incantation, raising the paper from the floor to settle before her, mid-flight. She studied it, examining the envelope from every angle. Performing various charms and spells on the item, she came to realise that it was not cursed or a creation of any dark magic that she knew. Slowly and cautiously, Hermione prised the lip of the parchment open as she allowed its mysterious contents to tumble out on to her quilt.

In disbelief she lent forward, prodding it with the tip her wand. It seemed to glint and glimmer in the lamplight— it was hair. Most surprisingly of all it was the trademark white blond hair that was a renowned trait of a certain wizarding family. She shook her head, unsure of what to think. Grabbing the tome from its resting place beside her bed, she hurriedly sifted through its pages, searching and searching for where this unusual present fell from it.

Just as she was going to turn to yet another page, she noticed that someone had folded the corner of it. It _had _been him. She knew it. It had his name all over it. She remembered the very few times she chanced upon Malfoy in Hogwarts library, more often than not with Pansy on his arm. Although, in her sixth year she spotted him in there practically every week, if not every day, reading. He seemed to be searching for something.

One day Hermione spied on him insistently scribbling away on a piece of paper, appearing to cross out every other word. She could tell his patience and faith were waning. The library's copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions _rested before him, every once in a while he glanced up at it, his brow knotted in confusion, and then in anger. Furiously, he slammed the book shut, stood up, shoved it carelessly onto the shelf, gathered his things and stormed out with not just a look of anger on his face but of defeat, also. Hermione had just gazed on out of interest and a little of annoyance as his rage disrupted everyone within sitting distance of their aisle. Nevertheless, as if on cue, that very book that Malfoy had maltreated fell from its haphazard position on the shelf, falling in a heap at the feet of the towering bookshelf. It was as though the book had been ostracised from the whole shelf— to be judged as an outsider. Almost like Malfoy himself. That was what he was turning into in the eyes of those who noticed.

In a huff, Hermione rose from her seat, picking up the book, allowing it to open before her. She perused its familiar pages nostalgically. She had read this book over a hundred times already, citing parts of it off by heart. However, she did not fail to notice how it had been defiled, its corners turned over every chapter or so, marking in particular the potions which coincided with the ones that were being and were to be taught by Professor Slughorn that very year.

That is how she had known it was him. No one, except Malfoy, would have the audacity to do such a thing to a book, unless they fear the wrath of Madam Pince.

As she tried to unfold the leaf, her eyes carefully read the words that riddled the page.

_Fluxweed…full moon…Sal Ammoniac…knotgrass…pinch of Bicorn._

In confusion and slight astonishment, she could not believe her eyes. Questioning her knowledge she peered at the title of the page. Hermione's suspicions were correct as ever, accentuated by a flourish of letters and diagrams: _The_ _Polyjuice Potion— _a drawing depicting a young woman with a grotesquely large spider on her head. But the question was: what was Malfoy up to?

Hermione closed the book, staring at its cover for a moment before she rose from her bed to glance out the window. The woods seemed to be encroaching on the house, as though it fed on the fear that seemed to infect all the inhabitants like a disease. They could not stay there for very long before an informant told the Death Eaters of their whereabouts. The Order feared another attack like the one before. They had to keep on their toes even as Malfoy supplied them with the little information he obtained from meetings with Dark Lord. It still could not be trusted and nor could he, apparently.

Her view morphed into a cloudy maze before her, as her warm breath began to cloud the glass pane, along with her ensuing tears. She felt so hollow inside. Death appeared to be a new addition to their motley crew, slyly befriending those weak enough. Everything was a jumbled mess in her head. She did know that she'd been entrusted a mission, one, which it appeared, could cost hers and a number of people's lives. Yet, she knew if she succeeded, it could win the war for them. But little had been revealed to her after the vow. Malfoy had looked to Shacklebolt and nodded. Turning to her once more he had looked pointedly at Hermione, an unwavering connection between the coldness of his gaze and the wariness of hers.

"I hope you know what you've just done, Granger."

Hermione turned to Harry with a questioning glance.

"Later, Miss Granger. Mr Potter and I will return soon, but we will tell you all. Do not doubt that".

Harry looked at her apologetically, shaking his head, ashamed as Shacklebolt escorted him away. Hermione had nodded resolutely, knowing that nothing would be revealed until the Order saw fit to do so. A habit of theirs, it seemed. She had secluded herself in her room in order to think. _About what? _She thought, snidely. She had nothing to think about, nothing that allowed her to ruminate in the possibilities of her future. She was curious, and it was her prerogative to find out what was going on now rather than when the Order deemed it necessary.

Ripped away from her reverie, she suddenly spotted a solitary figure that suddenly appeared in the middle of the garden. Her hand clenched around her wand, ill at ease with situation before her. A cloak wrapped tightly about the intruder, masking everything but his hair— a beacon of light amongst the gloom that suffocated its surroundings. Wiping her eyes, Hermione knew she could not sit around and wait any longer. She was sick of waiting for them. She was willing to fight, and one wizard held that bitterness and venom in his heart to give her the chance to fulfil her wishes.

Sucking in a breath of air, she grabbed her coat from her bed, pulled on her boots and hat, preparing herself for the coldness that would pursue her as soon as she set foot outside the confines of the decrepit manor.

Trailing along the dank corridor, inhaling the musty scent of her confines, she became aware of laughter coming from one of the bedrooms nearby. Carefully, approaching the door before her, she peered into the room. No one was there. Had it be a figment of her imagination? Pushing the door further ajar, she spotted a painting hanging above the dusty fireplace. Of the little light that streamed through the rips and tears in the curtains, Hermione became aware of a face materialising from the gloom of the obscure portrait.

It was a woman. Her hair was a halo about her head, her skin taught and sallow against her skull. Dark circles rimmed her tired eyes, yet the glimmer in them revealed more of her hidden fire. A necklace glimmered about her neck. It was a mould of a skull— a bird's skull. It was both beautiful yet deadly. The woman seemed to be humming to herself, seeing yet not seeing the witch standing before her.

Hermione reached out her hand to touch the canvas, intrigued by the portrait. She had grown accustom, over the years, to moving images and paintings, yet it still amazed her how they still seemed to harness the soul of those deceased. It was as though they were still living, yet frozen and encased in an image of their former selves— to be young, but immortal, too. To feel the onslaught of time and the bitter bite of painful memories forevermore.

Suddenly, the woman turned and glared, as though sensing the witch's pity. She eyed Hermione's hand that had been edging closer and closer. The woman looked down at the witch before her, her mouth transforming into a familiar sneer. _An extremely familiar sneer. _

"Who are you?" The emphasis of her words echoed about the room and in Hermione's ears. The young witch snatched her hand away, ashamed of her lack of proper decorum. Her curiosity seemed to get the better of her lately.

"I— I'm sorry," She began to back away, wanting nothing more than to get away, but seemed unable to stop staring into the abyss of the woman's eyes.

"Who _are _you?" She again, impatience tinging her speech.

"Her— Hermione Granger."

"_Granger_. I can hardly imagine you're a Pureblood with _that_ name."

Hermione was prepared to angrily censure the woman's remark, but was cut short by another question.

"Girl, have you ever seen such a necklace such as this?" Her heavy-lidded eyes stared intently at the young witch. The darkness of them seemed to consume Hermione, sucking away any likelihood of escaping unscathed. The woman seemed to be the model upon which the Dementors were created. Her eyes were like mirrors, reflecting the image of death in Hermione's face. She lived every day of her life not knowing whether she would be lucky enough to live the next.

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion. Her hands gripped her purse tightly, her knuckles whitening from the sheer effort. She felt ill at ease under the woman's probing eyes.

"Yes, it is _very_ beautiful."

Tired, she went to leave, taking a final look at the painting over her shoulder. The woman smiled, if Hermione could even call it that. Her bluish lips pulled back to reveal the yellow and rotten teeth that lay behind. Her laugh was almost a cackle. Something flashed across her mind. The woman reminded Hermione of someone, but she couldn't put a name to the face. It was infuriating.

"Wouldn't you like to hear about _my_ necklace," The woman began to twirl around, as though she were dancing, staring wistfully at her surroundings. Hermione thought she heard the rustle of her ebony gown, her prized possession glistening in the trickling light. She was absolutely crazy. One moment she sharp and spitting and the next the living embodiment of madness. _  
_

"My necklace. My necklace," She chanted, "MY NECKLACE!"

Her screeches reverberated about the room, causing Hermione to draw back in fear. The woman began grabbing the chain about her neck, as though it were strangling her, her screams breaking her raving chants.

"SHE TOOK IT! SHE TOOK ITTTTTT!"

Frightened, Hermione ran to the door. _So much for being a Gryffindor!_ But she knew the difference between courage and stupidity. She had never heard of someone being physically harmed by a painting, but she certainly would not stand around and be deafened by the madwoman's screeching wails.

Leaning against the door, she felt her heart thump in her chest, and her mind becoming a flurry of questions. _Who was she? Who stole the necklace?_ She knew that it may not be of any particular consequence, but she would not forget too readily despite the nature of the woman's ramblings.

Hastily making her way downstairs, she made her way into the downstairs parlour, only to find it was occupied. In shock, she knocked a vase over. It crashed to the floor. Shattered.

Apologetically, she began to scramble around, picking up the broken pieces. Her brain was practically frazzled from her last encounter. As she tried to clear the mess, she heard the irritable huff of Muriel Weasley— the woman that had initially caused this catastrophe.

"Mrs Weasley, I am so sorry. I— I was just so shocked. Forgive me. I—" When she was sorry, she stammered, and when she stammered it would not stop. Even if she consumed a cauldron full of the Weasley's Patented Daydream Charms, she would still be stammering through a daydream of ensuing awkwardness. It was truly a lost cause.

"Well, it was only _antique,_" The older woman emphasised the last word with a flick of her wand. The pieces of vase rose from Hermione's arms, transforming, anew and in one whole on the mantel where it sat undisturbed for decades before the young witch's clumsy entrance. Hermione felt aghast. How had she been so stupid? She was a witch. She should have thought. She was truly in a mess.

_Perhaps Malfoy was right. Maybe I'm not as smart as the others believe. _She shook her head. She was not going to give in. No matter what. _I'll prove him wrong._ But she would have to face the hag before her first.

However, there, Aunt Muriel sat in all her splendour, shrouded in black mourning robes and bedecked with jewels and the infamous goblin-made tiara. The cool colours of twilight that streamed through the window seemed to add to the less than friendly relationship between the two witches.

The older woman glanced over the rim of her daintily painted teacup. The image of a cooing cupid skimmed across its gaudy surface. The eeriness of it all reminded Hermione of Umbridge's personal fetish with fluffy cats. She certainly hoped the woman was less of a sadist than her previous Dark Arts professor. That was until the older woman deigned her with a forced smile. The young witch knew she was going to be torn to pieces, once again.

Hermione fidgeted slightly under her scrutinizing gaze. _  
_

The older woman's quasi-smile turned sour. Her frown deepened, her lips became a thin line, taught like a whip ready for her to unleash on her victim.

"Miss Granger," Muriel took the cup from her lips, placing it on the table beside her. She waved her hand, signalling for Hermione to sit.

Taking her seat, Hermione's hand tugged on her hat that sagged like a deflated quaffle on her head. She was waiting for the myriad of insults to pass Muriel Weasley's lips. Hermione's first encounter with the woman consisted of her ridiculing and complaining of her poor posture and skinny ankles. Yet, Hermione refused to be treated without respect, and so sat up straight in her seat, thanking Merlin she had chosen to wear her jeans to cover her, apparently, undesirable ankles.

"I hope your room is to your liking, Miss Granger," The older woman continued to sip her tea, her calculating gaze awaiting Hermione's answer.

"Yes. It's lovely. Thank you." _Maybe I can find out more from her. It's worth a try, Hermione._

"May I ask you a question, Mrs Weasley?"

The woman nodded her head, watching Hermione closely as she tried to assemble her jumbled thoughts into a question.

"Who is the painting of in the empty room upstairs?" It was better to be to direct and to the point or else the older witch would never hold interest in their strange, albeit timely conversation. Muriel Weasley was a bit like her great-nephew in that respect. Be direct and you can keep their attention. Fat lot it did for Hermione though, especially with Ron. Hinting was not an option with him, so it would not be one for the woman before her.

"There are many _empty _rooms in this house, Miss Granger."

_Evidently, hinting her distaste for me is not an option for her either. It seems we're on the same page._

"Third floor. Near my room. It's the painting of dark haired woman."

"Be bit more specific, Miss Granger," She couldn't help but feel the woman was hiding a arrogant smirk behind her teacup. _  
_

Gritting her teeth, Hermione could hardly control the anger flowing in her veins,"She wears a necklace that looks like a bird's skull. Someone stole it. Do you know anything about her?"

The air seemed to chill in the wake of her question. The older woman drew her back up like a cat's heckles, her dark eyes glaring over the rim of her teacup. Her hand appeared to tighten over its handle. Hermione could sense this was dangerous territory she was wandering into. She just hoped it was worth the sacrifice she was making.

"Her name is Druella Black. _That_ necklace is a Black heirloom. It is a creation of Dark Magic, mind you. Although, _it_ cannot surpass the beauty of my tiara," She pointed to the item of which she was speaking of, caressing it ever so slightly. Slowly, taking another sip of tea, she had Hermione sitting on the edge of her seat in anticipation.

"Her daughter, Miss Granger, is Mrs Lestrange. That very necklace hangs around Bellatrix Lestrange's gangly neck," The bitterness that oozed from the woman's mouth reflected her hatred of the family, and Hermione found at least one common interest between the two of them. Although, she wondered whether the woman's resentment was truly a product of loathing or, in fact, envy, as the item was not in her possession. But realisation brought Hermione back to the shocking revelation at hand.

"_Bellatrix_?" Hermione nearly choked on her words.

"Indeed."

Silence ensued. It was enough to make her throat dry. She enviously watched as Aunt Muriel plastered a knowing smile on her lips, taking a nice, long sip of tea from the enchanted cup. She was testing Hermione. Everyone was testing her, it seemed. _So be it_, she thought. _I'll play them at their own game_. _Go on. Try me_.

"I will be honest with you, Miss Granger—" _Have you ever not been?_ Hermione thought snidely, "I cannot comprehend why you, or anyone of your _social standing_, would presume that they are good enough for him. He is of good stock. And well, you…are not."

Taken aback, Hermione was silenced by her shock. The woman was equally frank as she was unpleasant. The young witch stood in defiance. She had faced everyone and everything a person would never wish to encounter in their life. She had been tormented and ridiculed by the so-called _p__ure bloods_ since she arrived at Hogwarts. _Dirty blood. Common blood. Mudblood. _This was her only chance to stand up against the injustice she had and would continue to face.

"_Mrs. Weasley_," She spat, "Let me be honest with _you_. I do not care for your airs and graces. We are all equal in this world, whether you like it or not. You treat me like Voldemort and his lackeys would. Treat me with the respect everyone deserves. The respect with which I have treated you ever since we met. Do not become an enemy simply because of _blood status_. A life lived in hatred, is a life not worth living."

She gripped her hands together trying to stop her trembling. She had never spoken to an elder like that before. The war was truly changing her. She was transforming into what Malfoy was telling her to become— cold hearted, hardening her heart to anything and everything. She glanced at Mrs. Weasley, awaiting a condemnation of her abysmal attitude. Yet, the older witch did not seem daunted in the slightest by Hermione's tirade. She drew the cup from her lips, cocking her eyebrow in respect.

"Also," She took a deep breath, "I may not be of _good stock_, but Ron and I are just friends. Just _friends_," She emphasised the last word insofar as shocking herself. Fairly confused, Hermione angrily swiped her bag from her seat, and made her way towards the doors leading to the veranda.

_Let's hope I can find __some_ _solace in this godforsaken house._

She heard a clink of china behind her, as Mrs. Weasley's teacup settled on the table.

"Miss Granger?" The woman called after her.

Having reached the door, Hermione glared at her as she turned around, her patience waning as her hand gripped the doorknob. The older woman pursed her lips.

"I was not speaking of Ronald, my dear. Do tread carefully."

**Author's Note: A massive dedication to nattt4991. She inspired me to pick up my pen again! Also, this is an updated version of the short Chapter Seven. Thank you to everyone reviewing/following/favouriting, etc. It means ever so much to me. And, once again, there's a link to my blog for this fanfiction on my profile. Go check it out. There are little snippets for upcoming chapters, and images, etc. I'd love to hear what you think! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

_"Dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake." - G.R.R. Martin_

Merlin was certainly against her today. She was not one to moan, but Hermione had reached so many dead-ends that day that it seemed even the furniture was leading her further astray in this labyrinth of confusion. Instead of facing the Death Eaters that had killed her parents in cold blood, she was left fending off a rabid painting, a bigoted old hag and the ensuing rain as she searched for Malfoy in the grounds of the decaying manor.

Soaked to the bone, she resolutely retreated back to her room, an overwhelming sense of defeat sweeping through her. Hermione flopped onto her bed, angrily muting a strangled scream into her pillow as she whacked her fist on the mattress. If anyone unfortunately stumbled upon her ireful form, she would, without hesitation, have stunned them into silence, whether by magical means or simply by the preposterous nature they found her in. She was acting like a petulant child, and she could not stand it.

Turning onto her side, she reached over to light a candle on her beside table, her hand clumsily grazing the coarse leather tome that rest there. She had not gotten any closer to finding out Malfoy's reason for defacing several pages that lay there within. It was a mystery to her. Not one she could readily solve without the clues, ones that she was so desperately lacking.

She tapped her fingers on its leathery bindings, her brow furrowing even deeper than before. Opening the book, she wished to inspect the contents of the envelope further, flipping the pages until she came across the one she desired the most.

_What?_

It seemed to be the only thought Hermione could fathom, before her curiosity sunk down into the deep pit in her stomach. The envelope was gone. Not even a trace of silvery hair had slipped onto its pages, unbeknownst to the intruder. To be sure, Hermione flicked through every single page from cover to cover, coming at a loss when she realised that nothing was, in fact, there. Had she simply dreamt it up? She shook her head.

Her anger seemed to get the better of her, as she flung the tome off the bed with as much energy as she could muster. _Out of sight, out of mind,_ she thought. But for Hermione the idea seemed to possess her innermost being. She was not just in a labyrinth seeking her way out; somebody was catching her out at every twist and turn. They were making her go in circles until her mind was subsumed by the crouching madness that seemed to be like a hound nipping at her heels.

Taking a moment to compose herself, she slowly sought for another book that would take her mind from the conundrum at hand. Within the velvety confines of her purse, Hermione's hand clasped onto the spine of an anonymous book. Pulling it out, she peered at the title that was boldly pronounced on its front. The amethyst swirls of the darkly embossed cover framed the words: _Secrets of the Darkest Art_.

She had not quite committed this one to memory yet. She was not sure whether it was due to her innate fear of the subject or what the knowledge that lay within its pages might do to her over time. Hermione could feel the effects of Malfoy's presence already, she did not need further temptation to fit the mould he so desired her to fill— to become the messianic warrior of the Light. She wanted revenge, retribution, but not by means of dabbling in the Dark magic that she and her friends fought against each and every day of their war-torn lives.

Many years ago, when she first opened its pages to better understand the creation of a Horcrux, Hermione was sickened to her very core, managing to contain her disgust and dismay until she, at last, reached the end of the chapter. The first words she could even bear to utter were etched in her mind: "Excruciatingly painful…apparently the pain of it can destroy you."

She would tempt providence again, it seemed, as she slowly prised the book open, allowing the words to consume her. Yet the nature of the passage rapidly ripped Hermione from her hectic reverie, voraciously commandeering her mind.

Her hand automatically clutched at the chain about her neck, quickly wrapping her fist around the pendant that lay against her chest. She felt oddly reassured by the trinket, egging her on to follow the inquisitive stream of her consciousness.

_Soul-splitting is not simply restrained to the Dark Arts, but has often transcended the barrier that lay between that and the everyday use of magic…some have been traced to simple playthings, jewellery and looking glasses…it appears when one wishes for the object of their desires with such fervour that only their subconscious could admit does this occur…rumoured to lay within the Iberian Peninsula is the Erised fo Rorrim, which is a manifestation of such a phenomenon…showing the deepest and most desperate desire of one's heart can often lead to the splitting of the viewer's soul, especially when the fires of their insatiable desires cannot be dampened…_

The young witch swiftly released the necklace from her grip, feeling unnerved by the recent revelation before her. It made everything so clear now, how Dark Magic could infect the simplest of treasures. Borgin and Burkes was a clear example of that— all its wares and goods were full of it, ready to harm or even kill those who were not permitted to touch them.

Feeling her eyes droop with the heaviness of sleep, Hermione tried to shake the need to rest her head down on the pillow for only a moment.

_Only five minutes_. _I'll refresh my knowledge on the Polyjuice Potion after that…not that I need to… _she thought, the faintest hints of credence mingling with the dregs of slumber that ensued.

A sudden knock woke Hermione as she was so close to dozing off. Her head rose from the pillow, her hair dishevelled, her eyes adjusting to the apparent darkness that surrounded her. The candle had long since gone, the flame a cause of its own demise. The curtains of her bed seemed to shroud her existence, hiding her away from any prying eyes that may have fallen upon her previously sleeping form. The slightest sliver of the crescent moon shone through the uncovered windows.

Another knock swung Hermione into reality. The tips of her fingers began to close around her wand, wariness tainting her every breath.

She heard the door creak open. Her hand quickly rose before her, her wand pointing dangerously in the direction the noise came. Peeking through the cracks of the curtains she saw a light slowly making its way towards her. She was prepared to disarm the intruder if they took another step towards her, when she heard her name being whispered. She saw the faintest outline of the whisperer's face, coldly illuminated by his wand. Hermione could have sworn she saw the curl of a dark pair of lips, icy eyes gazing down.

"Hermione. Hermione, are you awake?"

Her nerves slightly frazzled, she pushed the curtains apart only to be greeted by the vivid orange of a certain Chudley Canons t-shirt, any traces of blood long gone in the wash or a quick cleaning spell. Ron peered down at her, unsure if he was welcome or not— his cheeks appearing to redden.

"I- I'm awake, Ron. Sit down."

She quickly ran her hand over her hair, hoping to tame some of her curls.

Thinking he was going to perch on the edge of her bed, she was surprised when he placed himself right beside her, sitting not a wands-width away. Her heart thumped in her chest, her throat slowly becoming a closing damn to her breath and, apparently, Hermione's ability of to speak. She coughed hoping to dislodge any sense of trepidation she felt.

"Where's Harry?"

"Asleep."

Hermione could not help but laugh nervously at his audacious response. She pasted a smile on her lips, trying to brush away any awkwardness she may have felt.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay up and chat, Ron, I'm awfully tired. I think you should just go back to bed—" Her suggestion was cut off as the young wizard placed a pallid finger against her lips. All the air in her lungs seemed to escape her at that very moment. Simply put, she was shocked at her friend's actions.

_Friend. Is that really how I see him? _The question seemed to ripen in her mind.

He cautiously began to lean in toward Hermione, who sat dumbfounded watching the events unfurl before her. She was not sure whether she should be repelled at the thought of it all or go along with it. The question of friendship was certainly wiped clean from all her thoughts.

Taking his finger from her lips, he placed his hand on her waist. It was as though she had no control over actions, dumbly responding like a clockwork automaton, doing his bidding. She wanted to push him away, but she could not. She tried, but could not think anything besides: _Why not?_

"Ron— we can't."

Her words were equally as feeble as her original feelings. He pulled ever so slightly away so that he could gaze at the young witch before him, unleashing the power of his doleful eyes, disappointment resting on his brow. Yet the vicious glint of possessiveness did not escape her either.

"I just want you to give into your _deepest_ and _most desperate _desire, Hermione."

She could not help but frown in confusion at his reasoning. His words sounded oddly familiar, but her thoughts soon evaded her when he crashed his lips on hers, viciously moving in on her shrinking form. The very breath was sucked out of her. At first it seemed to be all hands and teeth, pent up frustrations, despair and grief reigning over their senses. Hermione could do nothing— and seemed disinclined to anything that would veer them from the path they were headed on. That was until Ron broke their kiss abruptly, their hot breath the only link to their previous intimacy. Her eyes were closed trying to take in what had just occurred. She could not let this continue — it was dangerous to begin an affair like this in the midst of a war. Her hand came up to rest on his chest, gripping his collar, wanting to pull him in again, but she knew she could not, should not. With a sigh and gentle touch she began to push him away, her eyes still sealed shut for want of some semblance of restraint. Hermione knew if she were to look into his eyes again, she would never be able to say 'no' to him again.

"Don't you long for the touch a man, _Hermione_?"

Her eyes snapped open, her mouth agape. She tried to swallow her fear, but could do nothing, say nothing. All she could do was stare at him. 'Shock' could not encompass the emotion that coursed through her veins, she almost felt sick with it.

She could only focus on the pair of icy eyes that stared intently into her own. The sharpness of his features was clearly accentuated by the darkness of the room and the little light that the moon deemed necessary to reveal the man before her. Her eyes slipped from his, gazing at the planes of his ivory-skinned chest. She just about managed to swallow her shame when she prised her eyes away. His smirk was almost feral when suddenly a scream passed her lips— the moment she finally awoke from her torrid dream.

Her breath was ragged. Her palms were sweating. A sob passed her trembling lips. It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming again. Nothing seemed to come into focus. The curtains of her bed blurred with the brightness that shone through the swath of darkness that surrounded her. Starring at the moth-eaten fabric that hung above her head, she recited as many uses of dragon's blood as she could recall considering the circumstances.

Slowly, her mind began to settle, her eyes adjusting to the darkness around her. She tried swallowing, coughing, anything to trying and shift the sense of unease that choked her lungs and tightened her throat. Steadying herself on her beside table, Hermione climbed out of bed, making her way towards the window, but froze when she spotted a dark silhouette sitting in the armchair before her.

"Tut-tut, Granger. First rule of surviving a war: never leave yourself unarmed."

She stared at the young wizard, her face becoming unseasonably warm. He had the audacity to scrutinise her openly, inquiring after her dishevelled form with the slight arch of his eyebrow. Steeling her resolve and standing tall, Hermione wanted to spit at his arrogance, not only at his comment, but also by stealing away into her room without permission.

"What do you want, _Malfoy_? I can only imagine it's _very_ important, if you had to invite yourself into my room without the courtesy of knocking. Seeing as I know you're a gentlemanly Pureblood and all," The sarcasm dripped from her lips. It was certainly nice to be the one dishing out sneering comments for once.

_I like this. I like this very much._

He stood, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Get your wand and follow me, Granger."

She stood her ground, not intending to obey in the slightest. Reverting to her twelve year-old self she cocked her hip, her fists clenched against the fabric of her jeans. She was prepared to lecture him to death, if he so much as tried to order her about again. She was not some hapless house-elf that would readily forget any misdemeanours of their heartless masters.

"No, Malfoy," She was not tempted to be verbally butchered by him at this ungodly hour. She had had enough of him already. All she wished to do was go back to sleep and try and forget the memory of a pair of unsavoury hands and lips that seemed to mould unnervingly to her own. Yet, she knew she had riled the dragon in him with her comment. It was not over yet.

His eyes seemed to turn to blackened onyx. They were an echo of what she had seen in her dreams. She knew in both cases they were a sign that nothing good was to come of their presence. Hermione could visibly see his jaw clench, bridling his anger and annoyance. _Two emotions that seem synonymous with this impertinent witch_, he thought. He took a calming breath before he spoke again.

"I will not ask you again, Granger."

She glared back at him, not standing down. It felt like hours they stood there, their eyes challenging the other to make the first fatal move.

"Forgive me, that sounded like a command, not a request, _Malfoy_."

In a flash, he grabbed her arm, crushing her wrist in his vice-like grip, his wand digging viciously into the base of her throat. She hissed in pain. His grip only tightened. Lifting her head, she tried to place as much distance as she could between them both. Even with his callous advances, she refused to show any weakness. She simply shot a baleful glance his way, daring him to continue. She would fight with brute force, if she needed. She had done so before. Hermione knew what she was capable of, even without the aid of a wand. Something in his eyes told her he knew that, too. Malfoy was aware that he was but a snake in a den of lions, but he was never one to shirk his Slytherin duties in goading the brains of the Golden Trio.

"You'll regret that."

"I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy— at least not now. Today I saw you crumble in front what you thought was Voldemort. You're just a scared, little boy trying to survive this war. So, stop with your airs and graces. You can't hurt me without going against your vow."

She gazed down at his hand that had only squeezed tighter during her speech. The evidence was there if he only pulled the sleeve of her jumper off her forearm. The marks would still be there. They may fade soon enough, but the chord that bound them together was there forever. That was unless Malfoy failed to protect Hermione. In that case both of them would be dead. They had to work together in order for this to run as smoothly as possible.

He studied her face, half-smiling.

"Well said, Granger. I would call you a fool to tempt fate, but for once your courage has been put to better use."

He nodded and slackened his grip, but kept a hold on her arm. She could feel the coolness of his touch as he pulled her towards him. She held her breath, unsure of his intentions. Whispering into her ear, she felt his breath against her neck, sending a shiver through her.

"But perhaps next time when you face an opponent you'll make sure you have your wand. A slap can only do so much damage."

Relinquishing his hold on the young witch, he turned and made his way towards the door, not even looking back to see if she would follow him now. They were at some truce— or at least an impasse.

It was only seconds before Hermione grudgingly turned and grabbed her wand from under her pillow. She knew she had to oblige his ego and do as he said in order to gain some trust, or at the very least some knowledge about the man she was to rely on. He would be her only ally in the midst of the evil she was heading towards. It was best to start now.

_Maybe he'll put me out of my misery and feed me to that bloody Venomous Tentacula in the conservatory!_ She thought as she trudged from her room, feeling the effects of a restless sleep.

The silence of the manor created an air of eeriness to the place, which she had never noticed before. Maybe it was the presence of her silent companion that gave the illusion of being alone, but Hermione felt as though her conscious was slowly being invaded by the sadness that infested this place and the people there within. She then understood why Malfoy seemed so at ease here. He had been bred on coldness and tradition. Yes, he had the affection of his mother and father, but certainly the only home he had was now overrun with Voldemort's minions. She now knew why he was not the spineless boy that she knew at Hogwarts. His heart had been hardened by his sufferings at the hands of a wizard he now sought to undermine. She saw it when his eyes seemed to thaw as she spoke to him in her room, calling him out for what he was: a scared, little boy. He wanted to be blithe and merry and see his children grow up in a world unfettered by darkness. So did she. This is why they had to make this work. The lives of those around them depended on it.

As she followed closely behind Malfoy, she could not help but be in awe at the decaying beauty of the manor. In this darkness its faults and flaws were hidden from any onlooker. The paintings high above them on the wall, their occupants sleeping soundly or peering curiously at the witch and wizard that passed them by. Opposite, the curtains lay open, drawing Hermione's attention to the world beyond the thin glass of the cracked and stained windows before her. The moon had disappeared behind a bank of clouds, submerging the gardens into the abyss of gloom. But her heart seemed to skip a beat when she thought she saw a shadow move in its depths. It could have been a trick of the light or sleep taking a hold of her senses, but she felt ill at ease, all of a sudden. She glanced ahead assuring herself she was not alone. Malfoy had only advanced a few metres in front of her in the time she had stopped and taken a second look out the window. Yet it was enough get her moving again, jogging to catch up with him.

He came to a halt outside a great oak door that creaked as he pressed on the handle. A chorus of sighs and angry shouts erupted in the hall. The paintings evidently hated their sleep being disturbed. Malfoy turned to her, paying no heed to his errant ways.

"Come in, Granger."

Unsurprisingly, the room was as dark as every other she had been in since her arrival, save for the innumerable candles that swathed a massive table in light. Dark wooden cabinet lined the walls, holding unsightly specimens and unnatural mixtures. Some of the glass panes that enclosed numerous jars of all shapes and sizes were clouded or caked in sinewy substances that certainly warded off anyone who wanted to open their doors. Plants hung, untamed from the ceiling curling their tendrils around anything they could grip onto. A large cauldron stood in the middle of the table flanked by hordes of scrolls and tomes that seemed to engulf the surface they had precariously been placed on. Areas had been cleared where certain plants lay half-cut and small piles of substances sat stewing in little pots. However, what caught Hermione's attention was the hair that peeked out from under the flap of an envelope sitting beside the brewing potion. It was not just any type of hair. It was white blonde.

Malfoy had been gauging Hermione's reaction the whole time, regarding the steady realisation of the famous know-it-all in front of him. She now knew who had been in her room and he was just waiting for the fury that was to ensue— or at least some light berating.

_It's to be expected,_ he thought.

He certainly took some pleasure in ruffling her feathers however hard it was starting to get. He sensed this time it was not enough. Hermione was getting better at schooling her emotions in the short time he had been around her. She was channelling her anger and frustration into wit and logic, two traits she had long since mastered. It was like adding tinder to a flame— and that fire just kept growing. He needed her to make this change in order to begin the task they had at hand. She still had much to learn from him in the little time they had been granted.

"You're making a Polyjuice potion, aren't you?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor!"

Rolling up his sleeves, he started collecting certain ingredients as he passed her by. She crossed her arms, summoning all the strength she had to stop herself from lashing out. It seemed to be one step forward and two steps back with Malfoy. Yet, then again, at least they were making _some _progress. Leastways she thought that until her eyes came to rest on a sight she wished never to see again.

During the vow, Malfoy had naturally chosen his right arm to be used. But despite the previous luck he could use to mask his evident shame, the young wizard had forgotten himself and what he was in that moment. Their smart bickering had nostalgically dragged him back to his years at Hogwarts when the only things that mattered to him were making his father proud, winning the Quiddtich House Cup and making Weaselbee's life a living hell. He had done it out of habit, rolling up his sleeves, like he had done every time he had eased into Potions late.

Hermione just stared warily at the wizard before her. She knew what he was capable of, but it seemed to dawn on her how much she would get herself into if she agreed to this all. Yes, Malfoy may have defected from the Dark Lord's army, but she knew as soon as she took that step, she could never go back. It was do or die.

She tried to look away, but she was almost mesmerised by it. The power it held over him and his family. It was his connection to the monster that had taken so many lives— a constant reminder of what they were fighting against and striving for: death and life.

"Granger, don't stand there like a daft troll. Go and get the rest of the ingredients. We need some shredded Boomslang skin and a pot of powdered bicorn horn."

He peered up from the mortar of pulverised knotgrass, the pestle languidly resting in his hand. It was not long before he realised what Hermione had been staring at. His awareness seemed to harden his eyes into a glacial glare. He quickly ran his hand over the mark, covering it with his sleeve. Nevertheless, the image of the blackened snake and skull against his porcelain skin still burned like an inferno in Hermione's mind.

She held Malfoy's gaze for a moment, until she looked away, starting to search the cupboards and drawers for the two elusive ingredients. Her heart beating faster with every step she made.

They were there for hours mixing, chopping, cutting, and stirring, a word barely passing either of their lips, unless they were discussing the potion at hand. Hermione rubbed her tired eyes, trying to keep her focus on getting the last leech out of the barrel.

"You need to rest."

She was jarred by the suddenness of his speech, losing her grip on the last piece needed to finish the potion. She sighed.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she hoped to shake the chill that had seeped into her bones. The manor had managed to reflect the wet and wintry setting outside, their steady breaths easily seen in front of them. She just about managed to reach the door when Malfoy spoke to her.

"And take this with you. I won't risk my life with your lack of _proper_ knowledge."

She turned and gazed at Malfoy, who held something out to her. Quickly, coming to her senses, she took the embossed journal out of his hand, its weightiness almost dragging her down. Running her palm over its cover, she looked up at Malfoy, inquiringly.

"What is it?"

"It's everything you need to know about being a Pureblood. And _you_ certainly have a lot to learn, Granger."

Prising it open, she turned to the first page. A neat hand had inscribed a name across the fresh parchment. The dark, bold letters stared back at her. It all made sense now. The hair. The Polyjuice potion. And now a name. As soon as she step foot outside the confines of the Order, Hermione Granger would be dead. This name was now hers:

_HARMONIA TISIPHONE BLACK_

"We begin tomorrow."

She nodded, her tiredness biting back all the questions that seemed to possess her mind. Hermione knew she had a lot to face, but her priority was to sleep and process everything that happened and that she knew would occur in the next few weeks.

Opening the door, she looked out into the hall, the tall windows letting in the first few rays of dawn.

"Oh, and Granger."

She turned and matched his steady gaze, the outline of a smirk on his lips.

"You should really think about taking a sleeping potion before you go to bed. Who knows what you might say when you are sleeping?"

**Author's Note: It has been a long time, I know! But I hope all that have reviewed/favourited/followed my fanfic thus far can forgive my absence. I wish I could dedicate this chapter to everyone who has reviewed. I would like to dedicate this chapter to two wonderful people, my best friend, Christina who is both an avid supporter of my writing and a brilliant Dobby-loving editor, and to WolfMaster5, who had created a whole Fanpop page in honour to my fanfic! I was flabbergasted and so overwhelmed by your dedication on the website and your wonderful support. I only wish I had known of it earlier! Thanks once again! Check out my blog that has little snippets for upcoming chapters, and images, etc. The link is on my profile. Reviews are like a bag of nice-tasting Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

"_I rebel, therefore I exist." – Albert Camus_

She looked out to the sun setting behind a dark bank of trees. Her time was up. She looked to Malfoy, awaiting his instruction. He still watched the sun, not relieving his gaze until dusk dipped its inky tresses into the fiery welkin. As the light had softened his features, the darkness seemed to turn him to icy stone, a face hard and taut against the future that stood before him.

He finally turned to Hermione and nodded, walking towards her inert form.

Something akin to acceptance had arisen between them both over the passing weeks. They had certainly provoked, argued and almost killed one another at first, but the flames of distrust had slowly been doused. He had taught her many things, which would help her to survive in the dark world she was to enter. Some things frightened her, although she would never let Malfoy know. He had turned her into a skilled Occlumens and Ligilimens, had taught her to create memories that were not her own, that were to be those of Harmonia Black. Her past was moulded around the truth, but omitted details of Hermione's Muggle-born life or anything that could draw her attackers back to the Order.

_I am a Pureblood that has been forced to flee from my home in France. I was the daughter of Orpheus and Electra Black, sister to Deimos and Phobos Black. I am the only known survivor of the massacre that took the lives of my family— an attack set about by French allies of the Order. I was always told if anyone in my family needed to escape, all they had to do was get to the Black family ring. _

This is what she had rehearsed. This was what Malfoy had drilled her on until she _was _Harmonia Tisiphone Black, and Hermione Jean Granger was becoming fainter and fainter every day. He prepared her for every outcome, good or bad.

He had schooled her in Pureblood history, traditions and etiquette. They often discussed and debated over certain customs and ideals. It was a challenge that Hermione relished. He could be iron-willed and conniving in his convictions, but so could she. But Hermione knew that change, _that_ change, which Andromeda spoke about was hardly even noticeable in the young wizard. So much so, that Hermione often wondered whether Malfoy's intentions were as clear-cut as he made out.

His words echoed in her mind as she stood beside him as the night sky began its reign: _"You know why she changed her name to Weasley, Granger?" _She knew he had been speaking of great-aunt Muriel. _"It's all about alliances, fealty, loyalty. She didn't want to be seen as a traitor. However, try as she may, she will never be able to escape her roots. She stands by them first and foremost, second only to her family. That is why she judges you even though you both are fighting for the same cause. It is in her nature…as it is in mine."_

She heard someone cough behind her, breaking her from her reverie. It was Harry. She smiled weakly. It was all she could do to stop herself from running into the safety of her friend's arms. Ron stood beside him, looking on anxiously. She had thought she had said her goodbyes, but every time she went to they never seemed to be her last.

The Weasley clan had congregated near where she and Malfoy were waiting to leave. The Order stood close by; McGonagall gave a curt nod of her head, trying to stop the ensuing tears. Molly Weasley was not as restrained, crying into the shoulder of her husband.

As Hermione turned to Malfoy, a hand gripped onto her wrist, stopping her.

It was Ron. He drew he close, resting his forehead against hers, wishing for only her to hear. His actions shocked her— her hesitation noticeable— but his steady hands held her firmly in place.

"Just promise…just promise me you'll come back safely."

She looked up into his eyes, full of emotion. He was asking this of her yet again, like he had at Grimmauld Place. It was like a vicious circle that she could not seem to escape. Traces of the past dredged up in the present. But her answer would— could only be the same.

"I can't promise you, but I will try, Ron."

He pulled her to him, planting a sad kiss on her trembling lips. Instead of clapping and cheering issuing from the others, it was followed by a loud wail from Mrs. Weasley. Hermione swallowed hard as she peered up at Ron. She knew it was not a kiss of passion, but of parting. Possibly their last kiss.

Turning away, she faced Malfoy, who had been watching unfalteringly to the events before him, and he had no scathing retort to make. She saw the undeniable tension in his stance, his jaw clenching. He was as apprehensive as the young witch. Briefly, he met her gaze, but looked over her shoulder towards Ron. She was acutely aware of Ron's hand tightening in that moment as the two wizards faced one another. They would never be able to resolve their differences, even if they won the war. She had no choice, at least for the time being.

"Weasley."

"Malfoy."

Ron let his hand fall to hers, squeezing it lightly in reassurance and pointed at the pendant around her neck, "If you need us."

She nodded. She was suddenly at attention when Malfoy finally addressed her.

"Granger, are you ready?"

She answered him by walking back to stand by his side, trying to listen to his final instructions.

"Take this and drink it as soon as I leave. And remember: do _not_ let your guard down— no matter what. If anyone offers you anything, but me, do not take it. Do not trust anyone. Am I clear?"

The pounding in her ears seemed to distort his every word, her mind working half its rate. She had to take a calming breath, the cool air seeping into her lungs, clearing her heavy thoughts.

"Look at me, Granger."

She tentatively looked up, awaiting his upbraiding comments, but there was no note of anger or exasperation in his voice, only a faint trace of something else— Hermione thought pity, perhaps. And she could see it when she looked into his eyes, not like the saddened blue of Ron's, but the icy thaw of emotions in the man before her.

"I promise I will be there."

He extended his hand to her. She placed hers in his cool grip, shaking hands. It was devoid of any emotion like her other goodbyes, but certainly entailed the possibility of their future reliance in the world beyond.

With that he disappeared in a flourish of darkness. She stood there alone, holding the vial up to her mouth, trying not to retch at the smell. Closing her eyes, she drank the large draught in one unwilling gulp. She immediately felt its familiar effects. Her insides started writhing as though she had just swallowed live snakes. She doubled up, trying to ignore the need to vomit. She just needed to relax and let the potion run its course. She felt a burning sensation spread rapidly from her stomach to the very ends of her fingers and toes, signalling the horrible melting feeling, as her skin began to bubble like hot wax, rippling and morphing in colour and shape. Hermione looked down at her hands noticing them take on a pale and delicate mien. She felt her already long hair lengthen even more, tickling the backs of her arms. Her usually untameable curls, relaxed into a mass of light blonde waves.

Running her hands slowly down the front of her dress, she tried to smooth out the wrinkles. She flicked her hair over he shoulder, her sleeve catching on the pearl drop earrings that she was wearing. Hermione knew she was stalling, but still she tried to fathom a reason why she needed to fiddle certain aspects of her dress, her hair, the grip of her wand. Regardless of it all, the only thing that she could see was the ring that rest on the grass before her.

She turned to take one last look at her friends, her colleagues— her family, before she slowly bent over to grab the ring from its resting place. As soon as she touched the Portkey, it felt as though she was being dragged backwards and falling.

Falling, falling, falling until she felt herself crash onto something hard. She could hear the scrapping of chairs against a stone floor, muffled screams and shouting. She felt like she had almost broken her back when everything went black.

She did not know how long she was out, but when she managed to open her eyes, she was met with something she had not expected she would see. A circle of darkly clad Death Eaters had their wands trained on her feeble form. She recognised Lucius Malfoy and the Lestranges. Other faces too— Rabastan, Yaxley, Rowle, Avery, Nott Sr., Dolohov, Greyback, Macnair, Mulciber, Alecto and Amycus Carrow. The Inner Circle. For a moment, she thought she had been tricked, that all of this was a plan to lure the brains of the Golden Trio to her untimely death.

Her fear had been real, and still faintly caressed her mind until she spotted Malfoy amongst the horde. His distinct blonde hair matched her own now. He betrayed nothing, except in his brief glance of recognition. His eyes hardened as soon as a cold, hissing voice rose above the deathly silence.

"And who might this be?"

Hermione felt her heart beat a tad faster in _his _presence. The words were heavy in her mouth. She could not seem to find the will to speak. She felt the tears slip down her face, as her trembling hand rose in front of her. That was what Malfoy had told her to do, play the victim.

"I— I— my name's—"

"ANSWER!" The woman's commanding scream was unmistakable.

Hermione looked around wildly, spotting Voldemort's assassin, viciously pointing her wand at her. Her eyes darkened in rage that lusted for fresh blood. She almost thought she would die looking her in the eye, like a Basilisk she was poised and ready to kill.

"Please— please help me!"

Bellatrix stepped forward and grabbed the front of Hermione's dress, dragging her to her knees. She aimed her wand at her head. The young witch looked around desperately for her wand— the ring. _I have to show them the ring_. She tried to pull away, but her attacker, gripped tighter, her nails digging ruthlessly into her skin.

She spotted Malfoy, looking on quietly. She saw his mother bend over and pick something off the floor. Narcissa held up the ring, it glinted dangerously in the light thrown from the chandelier above.

"She is a Black. My Lord, she of the house of Black. No one else could use this," She looked up towards an indiscernible figure standing beyond the throng of people. Her sister threw her victim disgustedly on the floor.

"It can't be! IT CAN'T BE!"

Hermione was not sure whether Bellatrix was angry at her oversight or that fact that she was to be denied a bit of fun. Hermione's hands clenched against the cold stone slabs of the floor, her nails creating half-moons on her palms. She looked up through the curtains of her hair, spotting the red glow of a pair of eyes in the dark channel between his subjects as they made way for their master's approach.

Having been reposing on his throne, hehad watched the scene unfurl before him like an emperor at the arena. Hermione held her breath as she awaited his _pollice verso_.

"Shh Bellatrix," He cooed, "You may have your prey _yet_."

It was like death was walking towards her. A shadow of the man he once was, his skin was sallow and taut against his skull. He smiled. His jagged and pointed teeth did nothing to quell Hermione's terror.

He seemed to slither towards her, stopping in front of her frozen form. He turned to rest his gaze of Narcissa Malfoy, who held Hermione's salvation in her hand; the key to her identity was emblazoned on the cool silver of the ring.

He took it from her, Bellatrix's eyes focused solely on the Dark Lord.

He studied it with a cursory glance, and suddenly looked into Hermione eyes. She did not look away— could not look away from his, its crimson sheen like freshly drawn blood.

"Tourjours pur."

"Always pure," Hermione whispered.

"Indeed."

Suddenly he was on her, grabbing her chin, his eyes not allowing her to appeal to the others for help. It would prove fruitless, they were at the mercy of the their master as much as she. Hermione wanted to scream and slap him away, his bloody breath sweeping over her as he spoke his next words.

"Who are you?"

"Harmonia Tisiphone Black."

"What are you doing here, _Miss Black_?" He seemed to hiss her name. She imagined his tongue flicking like that of a snake gulling its prey.

"I— I don't know!" Her tears dribbled pathetically down her face. She noticed as they fell, they continued over his hand that gripped her chin. He was unaffected. His face was cold and unfathomable. He simply watched her, studying her pooling emotions.

"Hmm…" His eyes ran over her face once again, and then turned to Bellatrix, "Take her away."

"NO! NO! I don't know why I'm here— the ring brought me!"

He turned to her again, his interest piqued slightly by her pleas.

He smiled again. His hand caressed her cheek. Hermione did everything to try and stop herself from shivering at his touch, but could not. Malfoy had told her Voldemort liked to toy with his victims, which was not surprising. But the means he used were unsettling, frighteningly calm and then unexpectedly violent. Malfoy called him the ever-showman, and Hermione felt he was definitely playing to his audience like a seasoned actor. Yet Hermione knew this was all too real, and at any moment she could be dead if he so wished.

"Why?" His gaze seemed to penetrate her.

"I— I don't—"

"And for the sake of _time_, do not say 'I don't know'," Impatience tinged his speech.

"The last thing I remember was— was my family being murdered."

His eyes seemed to constrict into a narrow slit as he gauged confession.

"You should know, Miss Black, that honesty is dearer to me than life."

Hermione had thought her courage had deserted her on her arrival, but suddenly the thought of her parents drew it out of her. Her mouth turned to a sneer, her nostrils flared. She matched his steely glare and spoke.

"Then, _my Lord_, we all must be half-dead by now," The comment seemed to slip from her lips as easily as she thought it. But she did not regret even when the room seemed to sink into a deeper silence than before. Everyone held their breath in its wake.

Voldemort opened his mouth, seeming to be on the brink of uttering the last words she would ever hear when suddenly he laughed.

No one, not even Bellatrix knew how to react their master's response to the witch's valour and grit in the face of death.

"Are you not afraid of death, Miss Black?"

She kept his unnerving gaze, noticing the pale curve of boyish curiosity on his lips. She knew enough about his life before his transformation to know that he had been and still was smart, craving answers to what he did not know.

"Yes. I am human after all."

His eyes shone with mirth at her response.

"Then tell us your story. Why are you here?"

She looked about at those surrounding her, studying their reactions, their white-clenched fists still clinging onto their wands. They appeared unfaltering like dogs ready to sic her at their master's command. Bellatrix's crazed eyes made the dark pit in her stomach deepen and her breath to hitch in her throat.

"As I said, the ring brought me here. My family surely knew then that you would provide for us in circumstances like these. I believe that this was no wanton raid made by common thieves and murderers. It was an attack— a statement made by allies of the Order. They must have known my family's allegiance."

The Dark Lord paced before her, listening while Hermione reeled off her fabrication. He stopped at her silence. His eyes seemed to meet each of his followers, hesitating on Malfoy. The blonde wizard gazed on without fear. He was almost smug.

"Tell me, Draco, why do you question her? Do you believe she is lying?"

Suddenly, he turned and trained his wand on Hermione's frozen form. He knew.

She warily glanced at Malfoy. Her heart went cold— dead even before the necessary curse had been made. He, however, was unaffected by the Dark Lord's probing questions.

"I do, my Lord. How did we not know of this so-called _familial allegiance_? Am I expected to welcome a prospective spy into an order whose foundation has been cracked by _people_ like this before?" The venom oozed from his lips. He was playing the bitter, cold and heartless man that the Death Eaters had learned to follow and revere as their Chosen One. His mother let her sad eyes rest on her son. She didn't know then that he was not who he was claiming to be. Hermione could see a part of his mother's soul die in her eyes.

"What do you suggest I do then with _Miss Black_?" He whispered in her ear, the gleeful hiss returning to his voice.

Malfoy looked her directly in the eye; a sickly smile crept onto his lips, his teeth barred in a vicious grin.

Flippantly, he proposed, "Legilimency, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord came to stand in front of her, the quirk of his brow reminded her of what Harry had described of Tom Riddle het met in the Chamber of Secrets. Dark, sly and a knowing slant to this mouth. He was goading her to make a rash move. Test her strength in his dark court.

"Well, it appears you have a choice, Miss Black."

Harmonia's eyes widened in terror at this ultimatum. Hermione, however, was ready. She knew what to do.

"Please! I will do anything. I can assure you that I am _not_ lying whatever this man may believe. If it will ascertain my freedom and your faith, then so be it. I have nothing to hide from you— _any_ of you."

For a moment, she looked pointedly at Malfoy. A little pride seemed to creep into his eyes. _Touché_. Their faux encounter had started on cue and with the right tone of distaste from both parties— not enough to appear rehearsed, but equally not too blasé.

He knew the inner-workings of this dysfunctional time bomb. They only needed the right tools to make it obsolete. But the first task was to break the clock face and access the springs of cogs of this immortal machine. Her first obstacle was coping with Voldemort's invasion into her mind and placing the appropriate memories to the fore.

The Dark Lord stood before her, taking a step closer to her. The intimacy was unnecessary, of course, but he liked an air of discomfort when he performed the spell. It made it all the easier to see the weak spots in his victims' defences or lack thereof.

Hermione took a deep breath and willingly gazed into the deep crimson pools one couldn't quite call eyes. She was lost for a moment as she looked at the very embodiment of death. This steeled her resolve.

She could hear Malfoy's voice in her ears: _'Empty yourself of all emotions. Repress it if you must. But you are nothing. No one.' _She did just that. Her anger, her pity, her fear faded into the nothingness.

A rush of memories passed through her mind. Harmonia's childhood in the countryside of Dijon. She was running through the fields, a dark manor just visible beyond the crest of the hill. Two little boys playfully duelling in the expanse of the summer sun. First steps. First love. First heartbreak. First death. Second death. A third and a fourth. The dead bodies of her parents and brothers lay strewn throughout the house. The fear, the shock, the pain, the disbelief raging through her. The moment she realised she wasn't alone in the house. The split second. A decision. The ring.

Darkness.

She was pulled away from her memories, sucking in the cool air of the room, like a woman craving air after being submerged under the icy waters of a pond during winter.

A sob escaped her lips.

"Enough, Miss Black."

She looked into the monster's eyes. He revealed nothing whatsoever.

"Answer me this: If I let you live what will you do?"

"I will _kill _them for what they did."

A dark smile slid onto his pallid lips.

"Good."

He stood before her a moment longer, appraising her dishevelled form, the dirt that muddied her hem, her bloodied hands— the very image of war. She would do very well, indeed.

"Draco, I'm placing Miss Black in your family's care. Do see she is well looked after. She has been through _so much_ to get here," He said this never letting his eyes leave hers in the moment they met.

"I would be very much obliged to see you well again, Miss Black."

"Thank you, my Lord," Her eyes dropped from his. She couldn't meet them any longer without letting a glimmer of hatred seep into them.

Voldemort and his followers resumed their seats at the great oak table. All eyes trained to look ahead into emptiness as their master stroked Nagini on the head in the wake of his pomp and circumstance.

Narcissa approached her slowly like she would a hurt deer, or perhaps like a rabid animal. Malfoy stood behind his mother watching her move; his disdain was carefully and purposely left unguarded. He wasn't meant to respect his mother and father anymore. It was his role. He hadn't told her in so many words, but to protect them he had to treat them like this. They had to know as little as possible about their son in order to keep things in motion without emotional fault. But deep down Hermione knew he was going a step further than what he taught her about Occlumency. He wanted to trust no and no one to trust him. Emotions were useless now. They were weak and feable against the dark. They had no place in his heart nor in hers, apparently— at least until the war was won, or they died trying.

"My dear, lend me your hand. I will not harm you."

Hermione peered up at the broken woman in front of her. The tears in her eyes nearly spilt out and cascaded down her cheeks, but Hermione quickly rubbed her hand against her cheeks, leaving a trail of blood there in the process. Narcissa placed a tentative hand on her shoulder instead. Her small hand like a ghost, it was barely noticeable. Gentleness was absent in Hermione's life recently, and this small effort nearly sent the tears flowing again.

"Mother. Father. I will take her from here. She cannot stay here."

"But Draco—" His mother tried to intervene. Even Malfoy Sr. looked as though he was about to question his son.

"_Do not test me,_ _mother_."

Hermione looked to Draco. She hated him.

"She has no place here. The Dark Lord may trust her, but I do not. I will not endanger the efforts of our master. She will stay with me where I can keep a close eye on her," He whispered dangerously.

The last few words rolled out of his mouth, the insinuation was hard to miss.

He turned to Hermione. The guarded arrogance masking his cold face, a sneer bled onto his lips.

"It would be a pleasure, Miss Black, if you would follow me."

Hermione did as she was told for once, out of necessity and partially out of shock. Despite everything, the man she feared the most was waiting before her. Part of her knew he was acting, but a small questioning doubt crept into the back of her mind at his actions. Voldemort clearly possessed an air of theatricality and gore, but Malfoy, he was the master of deception in this game of charades.

"As you please," Her voice barely made a voice even in the ensuing silence.

She took his arm. Her pale hand a shadow against the darkness of his robes. She could feel any heat that was left in her drawn away at the coolness of his skin beneath his sleeve. He tensed at her touch. Whether in discomfort or disgust, she wasn't sure.

Without much a do, he turned to his lord, nodded.

"My Lord."

"Draco," His voice hissed. Hermione shivered. Evidently, Malfoy had repelled any semblance of fear that she had seen before, but Hermione couldn't help but detect a slight tremor in his breath as they apparated away. Although, it could very well have been nothing.

Hermione nearly collapsed when they arrived. Malfoy had to grip her arm tightly to hold her up, trying not to get any more blood on his already sullied clothes.

"Stand up."

She did as she was told, her hand clutching on the pendant that sung at her neck.

A clatter came from beyond the room. The great ornate doors of an apparent drawing room towered above them, partially ajar. The dark blue of the patterned wallpaper shrouded the room in a mystic and sombre glow. The drapes, although open, seemed to the drain any light from the room and prevent the little light that came from outside.

The door creaked open further; a figure emerged from behind the door. A dark silhouette approached them.

All seemed to fade away in the presence of the woman standing before them. She was relatively tall, her dark hair cascading down her back. Her black dress was quiet but stunning in his simplicity. Her dark eyes were cool and inquisitive. A smile touched her lips.

"Draco?"

She looked instinctively at Malfoy.

"This is Miss Black, Astoria. She will be staying with us for a while. That is until the Dark Lord says otherwise."

He gazed darkly at Hermione, who tried to prise her arm away from the wizard. He kept his grip firm. The witch looked on without worry at Malfoy's actions.

Patting her hands over the front of her dress, she took a graceful step forward, placing herself before Hermione. She presented her hand, all pale white and unsoiled.

"I have not introduced myself properly. My name is Astoria—"

"Yes, this is Astoria Greengrass, my fiancée."

Malfoy peered down at Hermione. His handed tightened slightly over her arm, the glint of his ring shining in a little moat of light.

**Author's Note: Enjoy! I've edited a lot of the previous chapters, so check them out. There have been very little major changes, but I've tried to remove any mistakes, etc. This is dedicated to my Dobby-obsessed, sheep-herding best friend, Christina, once again! It is her birthday gift from me! Oh, and check out my blog for further snippets of future chapters and sources. Please review and spread the word if you've enjoyed it enough!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.**

"_I hope she'll be a fool - that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool." — F. Scott Fitzgerald_

She felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Her eyes were trained on his ring, then his eyes in a state of shock. She saw no signs of mirth in his, but those that were tainted by a deep, dark sadness. She neither felt betrayed, nor worried, but filled with a type of confusion that followed in the footsteps of ignorance. He had said nothing and she was lost for words.

Malfoy looked away towards the woman before him— his fiancée. Astoria's hand was still held before her waiting to greet their guest, her immaculate nails contrasting with Hermione's bloody and muddied fingers and palms. A small smile on her lips. She almost felt ashamed.

"Well, Miss Black, let's get you all cleaned up. I'm sure I have something I may lend you."

Her hand clasped Hermione's now, pulling her towards her as though they were the best of friends. The young witch felt only tiredness, and had no strength to indulge in such kindness. She could sense a cold front that barred any like emotions. She simply let her gaze fall on the figure beside her.

Astoria's eyes rest lovingly on Draco, who replied with a terse, albeit tender smile in return. Malfoy looked to Hermione and his eyes hardened, the ice returning. She was slowly beginning to recognise the two faces of Draco Malfoy: the Light's scapegoat and the Dark Lord's Chosen One. His own identity was crumbling beneath the two— a man equally as lost in this dark, foreboding world as Hermione was.

He nodded, "Yes, please do. She will be our _personal_ guest for the foreseeable future."

His voice was strung with insinuation, bitterness and a brutality. His future wife did not flinch. The dark-haired witch simply began to guide Hermione through the door. Yet before she could take one step outside the confines of the gloomy room Malfoy's imperious voice filled her ears once again.

"Be sure to bring Miss Black to me afterwards so that I may speak to her further."

Astoria nodded obediently at his request.

"Of course, my dear."

The residual image of Malfoy's sombre eyes planted itself in her mind as she trailed along the numerous hallways, the many stairs and the handful of great ebony doors. She followed behind her guide, dissecting her surroundings, but particularly the woman in front of her— the dark curl of her hair, the slenderness of her hand, the glitter of her own ring. He had said nothing to the Order about his _situation_. Not even a hint. She did not know the reason why, but the game had very quickly changed, and Hermione was fumbling with this revision of the rules.

Hermione had known her sister, Daphne Greengrass, a spoilt, sour-faced Slytherin who spent her time with Pansy Parkinson, the instigator of torment and chaos during their time at Hogwarts. However, in this small amount of time Hermione realised that Astoria was her antithesis. She had an innate tenderness to her speech and touch. She was a kind soul trapped in a gilt cage— evidently a prime example of her breeding, but a true beauty, nevertheless. Nobody could deny that, not even Hermione.

_How on earth could they even be related? _Hermione wondered.

Regardless, Astoria's apparent sweet disposition put Hermione on edge. It was a common saying amongst witches and wizards not to judge a Jarvey by its jabber, and the smartest witch of her age certainly would not. She could not and would not trust anyone, even Malfoy's intended. Even the title hung awkwardly above its owner, who spoke softly to Hermione. Whatever she said did not sink into her foggy mind. There was a dull throbbing in her back; the collar of her dress had been sufficiently ripped by Bellatrix's assault at Malfoy Manor. Her ears felt as though they were covered, only every other word that passed Astoria's lips could be heard.

She began to open to the door before them, a beam of light piercing through the darkness of the hall in which they stood, a gust of wind following. Hermione drew away, momentarily blinded. The other witch simply pulled her forward into the room. Her eyes slowly adjusted, and she could feel her heart swell in relief and mild astonishment.

The glimmering cleanliness of the tiles was evident and sunlight shone through the gauze-like curtains that danced in the wake of a breeze. It was so bright. Light had been wanting in the Order's few safe havens, but now it seemed to expose Hermione to herself— a harbinger of truth. She peered at Astoria, her dark, probing eyes made the young witch feel ill at ease. Astoria took a step towards her; Hermione took a step back in turn.

"You mustn't be afraid. You are safe now."

Reaching her arms out, she signalled for Hermione to come towards her. Briefly turning away, she snapped her fingers. With what sounded like a small crack of a whip a house elf appeared, hunched over in what was supposed to be a bow, or a courtesy, Hermione could not tell. His chin was sharp and long, bearing a resemblance to his noticeably angular and erect ears. He did not bear the softness of Dobby's features, his eyes were hollow and worn as if he had witnessed all the sufferings of the world.

"Miss Black, this is Trilby. He will be at your service while you are here. You may call on him whenever and wherever you so wish."

She smiled. Hermione thought that she responded likewise, but realised what should have looked like gratefulness must have mutated into a grimace. The blood and grim that caked her face and the moats of paleness on her cheeks the effects of her former tears. It would have to do.

Hermione turned and nodded to the elf, "Thank you."

He nodded back. Hermione's brow furrowed, perplexed by his silence. Despite being bound by servitude, house elves were always willing to speak, more of a comfort to themselves than to the masters and mistresses. It was odd.

"Why does he not speak to me?"

Astoria's eyes dimmed, her smile contorting into a slim line, "He _cannot_ speak."

The young witch could sense something was amiss, that something was being left unsaid, but she would not pursue it further. She couldn't, however much she wished to. She was a Pureblood now. She had already been kind enough to the elf to border on the suspicious. Harmonia was not cold and heartless, but she was born amongst those who were. Hermione could not interfere.

She could not explain why but she silently hoped that it had nothing to do with the youngest Malfoy.

Turning to the house elf, Astoria gave him orders to draw the bath, to prepare the guest room, and take Hermione to Master Malfoy once she was ready. She ushered Hermione towards the edge so that she may sit, taking her hand warmly in hers, assuring her of her safety once more. She placed Hermione's wand on the side, quickly admiring its telluric detailing. She looked back to her guest, her smile resuming its usual place on her lips. Hermione shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

Prescribing Hermione some much need rest and a good night's sleep, she closed the door behind her, the click of her shoes against the stone floors barely audible through the great door. Silence reigned.

She prised herself out of her clothes, the congealed, dried blood cracking as it broke away. She inspected her cuts and bruises; there were far too many to count. Trilby dutifully took her sullied clothes away, and left Hermione to bathe and rid herself of all the dirt and grime that clung to her skin. She scrubbed and scrubbed, making her skin raw under her ministrations. She sunk under the water, holding her breath, the eerie silence consuming her senses. Hermione needed to think, to escape already. Malfoy's words rung in her ears: _I promise I will be there_. He certainly was but in another form entirely. She wasn't naive enough to think that the little amicability that had grown between would remain as soon as they stepped foot outside the protection of the Order. Yet the wizard she met earlier that day was even more ruthless, playing the role of important disciple to his cause and to his master.

Suddenly, a pair of deathly, red eyes seemed to stare maddeningly into her own. The ghost of a mother flit across her closed eyelids. The death of a soul swam amongst her thoughts. A splinter dug deeper into her chest. Her hand snaked around her necklace— her only solace now. She wanted nothing more than to contact Ron and Harry, to see a little glimmer of their faces in the glass, but she couldn't. Hermione would only allow herself to use it in an emergency. Malfoy would report back to the Order when and if he could. Time was infinite. Timing was minimal.

As her hand rest against her chest, she could feel the rhythmic thump of her heart as it calmed itself in this little luxury. She rested her head against the cool marble, her burning cheeks surrendering to its chill. She heard the creak of the door, but her eyes refused to open, weighed down by fatigue. She heard the faint echo of footsteps.

Hermione briefly opened her eyes. The blood drained from her face. A dark, solitary silhouette stood in the shadow of the door, an ethereal spectre clad in black. Hermione's wet hair lay untamed against her skin, her hands clutching the rim of the bath. She instinctively sunk her body further down in the bloody and dirt-infested waters, spilling some of it on the clean floors. The water collected at the foot of the intruder, who took a step forward, his dragon-hide boots coming to rest in the muddy pool at his feet. She saw something in his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"You have been in here over an hour. We have much to _say _and _do_."

Her frown deepened at his words. She tried to master her emotions, to try and keep calm. Her cheeks became red, her blond hair reacting to her torrent of emotions. Yet he simply continued to stand there, waiting.

"Get out. Now."

Anger broke down her control, the window slamming shut, the curtains' dance killed stone dead. Malfoy's eyebrows peaked in interest. He took another step towards her, causing her to flinch away.

"This is my house, Miss Black," A smirk replaced his previous seriousness, his eyes barely masking his youthful curiosity, "You _really_ must try and control your emotions while you are here."

"Don't toy with me," She spat.

"_Do not waste my time_," She could hear a hiss in his voice. His face had darkened. He truly was remarkable, caught in the ever-changing waves of honesty, viciousness and offence.

He stood there watching her. Her eyes never left his. The game of choice was a battle of wits. It would never change. Where one was stubborn, the other was proud. Where one was filled with anger, the other was filled with an icy ferocity. The snake and the lion. The Slytherin and Gryffindor.

He threw a robe in her direction, the clench of his jaw, a final bid for some semblance of composure. Malfoy stiffly turned away as she stood up. Her eyes lingered on him. She watched as he stood there with his back turned, the paleness of his skin matching the whiteness of the room, the darkness of his clothes a stark contrast. Part of her wanted to go and strangle him. Instead she immersed herself in the coolness of the black silk, tying the sash in a very tight, and secure knot at her waist.

Carefully, stepping down, Malfoy turned and gazed at her.

"Take this."

He held a small vial in his hand, which she quickly took. She felt a mild tingling sensation in her stomach as the potion ran its course through her body. She could feel the bile rising in her throat.

"Wasn't it enough?" She asked between a few shaky breaths.

She placed the vial back in his hand, which he quickly pocketed. He sighed; an air of frustration tinged his speech.

"No. We need to make a stronger brew. Your eyes were changing."

Suddenly, the room began to spin, Hermione's vision becoming blurred and disjointed. She felt her hand grapple for something to keep her up. A cool hand grabbed a hold of hers, pulling her up. It was clasped tightly around hers, their union the only barrier between their tensed bodies. She peered up when she heard his voice.

"Let's get you a drink."

He led her through the endless, barely-lit hallways, until they reached a pair of doors that almost reached the ceiling. The carving of a small bird and the words _Deus inde ego furum aviumque maxima formido _weaved intricately around the top. He looked to her briefly and whispered the password. She could barely discern what he had said. The door opened without much ado, the corridor still subsumed by an immutable stillness.

Hermione's eyes widened. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of books, tomes and scrolls. A number of comfy looking reading chairs were placed around the study. A great, claw-footed desk stood on her right, an average sized portrait hung behind devoid of its subject. The crackle of the fire filled the silence between them.

Malfoy languidly pointed to the chair facing his desk, indicating for her to sit. Hermione obeyed, proceeding to gaze around the room as he poured them each a drink from an ornate tumbler.

Walking back she saw the glint of some amber liquid in the glass, glistening in the firelight. She stared at it sceptically. He nudged it in her direction, looking pointedly at the glass.

"Take it," He said, "It's only some Firewhiskey."

Like the Polyjuice potion, she swallowed it quickly, a similar burning sensation followed. She couldn't help but cough at its effects. Malfoy just smiled above the rim of his glass as he lent casually against his desk. The quiet was glorious. She simply sat there, studying him. He observed her.

"How can you be so clam?"

Shifting from his perch, the young wizard waltzed around to his desk where a pile of open and unopened books lay. He ruffled through some papers, searching. She waited for his reply, but it was only in vain. She adjusted the fold of her robe. He was being insufferable. It was a form of passive torment he usually employed, especially throughout her few weeks of training. He wasn't avoiding her question, but merely saw it as a waste of words, unnecessary. Well, she would give him something he had no choice but to answer.

"She doesn't know, does she?"

He stopped dead, shooting her a dark, forbidding glare. His knuckles turned white as he clenched onto the book he was leafing through only moments before. He slowly placed it back on the desk, looking her straight in the eye.

"That is none of your concern."

She was very much riled by his comment. Hermione stood and forcefully placed her glass on his desk, matching his belligerent stance.

"What did you tell me about emotions, Malfoy? That they were a distraction."

He watched her carefully.

"Yes, I did."

"So, what is she? A pawn in this _wonderful _game like me?" She could feel every muscle in her body tense, her eyes sore, her mouth suddenly dry. Hermione's growing irritation towards Malfoy's hypocrisy had burst from her lips, Astoria as its catalyst. Her emotions were in turmoil, her thoughts becoming unfiltered and her actions less calculated. Hermione blamed the drink, but it _wasn't_ the drink that was talking. She knew that. He did, too.

Standing tall, he moved steadily around to stop before Hermione, who stood in defiance. He took her arm in his grip, pulling her close, breathing into her ear, a lock of her blond hair fluttering against her cheek.

"_Never_ ask me again."

He tightened his grip ever so slightly. She refused to react, watching his eyes flicker at the pain the Vow relayed from his abuse. Hermione smirked.

"Then answer my question now, so I don't have to," she whispered, her tongue flicking at her inflection.

He quickly released his hold on her arm, as if ashamed of his actions, letting his hand fall at his side. Malfoy took a step back. He looked away briefly, taking a breath, before he met her gaze, that sadness tingeing his grey eyes again. Hermione thought she could see his mother in his eyes in that moment.

"I can't, Miss Black. At least not now."

She nodded. All she wanted was a civil and direct answer, and she got it. She would wait until he saw fit to reveal the purpose of Astoria in the greater scheme of things. She knew her mission that was all— to work with Malfoy to uncover the reason for Voldemort's survival. All the known Horcrux's had been destroyed. Harry had been the last.

Malfoy believed that someone in Voldemort's inner-circle had been entrusted with the secret, not long before the Battle of Hogwarts. Despite his advancement in the ranks of his followers over the past few years, Malfoy had been an unlikely candidate at the time. Naturally it pointed at his aunt Bellatrix, but she had become as secretive as she was predisposed to violence. But there were others Hermione had been warned of, the myriad of sycophants and killers that flocked at the feet of their master: the Carrows, Dolohov, the Notts.

That final name had lodged in her throat and particularly Malfoy's. He was their schoolmate, the closest in intellect, and above all, the greatest threat to the Light winning the war. _He is a dangerous man, _Malfoy had said._ He seeks to undermine me_ _in some way and take the sobriquet of the Dark's Chosen One. _That _cannot happen. Not if we want to win._

All this had been divulged to Hermione during her training: the ins and outs, the likelihood of failure, the chance of survival. Yet the name of Theodore Nott had remained. He was the ghost that traced their every step, plan and fear. They would have to dispose of him immediately if he so much as caught the scent of their insurrection. Hermione dreaded that moment, and hoped it would never arise.

Malfoy could see where her thoughts were leading, her brain ticking over everything that had, would and could happen. Every second she was planning, as was he.

"What do you want me to do?"

Malfoy walked back to where he stood before their brief altercation, holding a cream card out to Hermione. He said nothing. Taking it she skimmed its contents, the words causing her brow to knit in confusion.

"A garden party?"

It was the furthest from what she was expecting. Malfoy smiled ruefully in response.

"Even during war, the Malfoy's always provide the best. Besides, you have been invited by the Dark Lord to attend his counsel. It is a trial, not a _garden party_."

Worry began to taint her now-blue eyes.

"Why? Did I make any mistakes?"

He shook his head, either in uncertainty or in incredulity at her incomprehension. He generally reacted the same way in both scenarios. A light breeze blew through the open window. The sun had set and night was apparent. There were no stars in the sky that night. A storm was brewing on the horizon.

"I don't know," A faint smile quickly graced his lips, "Although, your comment certainly piqued his interest on your arrival. I think he's curious."

She fiddled with the end of her sash, the rich, silk material running like liquid onyx through her fingers.

"Good. That's what we intended."

He took a moment to take in her new appearance. It was certainly different.

"I think you have too much faith in your abilities, Miss Black."

"You simply have too little faith in them."

He took the card from her once more, amused by her sudden confidence. The slight crease around his eyes a rarity since the start of the war. There wasn't really anything that made him smile anymore. Sitting down, he took up his quill and promptly wrote on the card. A polite response, she supposed. The candle on his desk flickered as he scribbled away, the swirl and curve of his script marking his bloodline.

"Well, we will see."

An unexpected gust of wind blew through the room. The fire expanded ever so slightly in the hearth, papers and pages rustling on the desk. The little flame fought against its siege, but lost. The light was snuffed out. Hermione and Malfoy simply stood there transfixed by its demise. The heaviness in their hearts only increased.

**Author's Note: I've created a playlist, a mix of all the songs I write to and think reflect the tone of my fanfiction. There is a link to it on my blog, which you can find on my profile. Also, according to JK Rowling, a Jarvey resembles an overgrown ferret, and is capable of Human speech, although true conversation with a Jarvey is impossible. The creature uses short, usually rude, statements and phrases in an almost constant stream. And **_**Deus inde ego furum aviumque maxima formido **_**is from Horace's **_**Satires**_**. It means 'A god thus I am - to thieves and birds the greatest fear.' **


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